


Where's the Quit Option?

by RedEyedRyu



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, F/F, F/M, Non-Binary Frisk, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader does not deal with stress well, Real World Shenanigans, Slow Burn, dimension hopping, reader identifies as female
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 18:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6019819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEyedRyu/pseuds/RedEyedRyu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dealing with the unexpected is never easy. Especially when the unexpected involves video game characters literally dropping into your life.</p><p>You might find this cool in retrospect but in the here and now, in this very moment? You're wondering if you shouldn't turn yourself in for observation to the nearest mental health clinic.</p><p>And if that damn skeleton cracks one more joke or bad pun you swear to GOD you're going to punch him square in the mandible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. They're Coming to Take Me Away

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up from a really weird dream today that was a bit too amusing to just let fade into the ether.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no no **no**.” You rapidly repeat, totally not in a panic or anything, pacing back and forth, hands clutching your head. 

What the hell were you supposed to do about this? How was this even possible? And why did it have to happen to _you_ of all people? You’re absolutely, totally, completely one-hundred percent _not_ equipt to deal with something like this.

“Nnnnooooooooooo no no no no I can’t do this. This is- I don’t even know what this is. This is crazy. So fucking crazy; I’m going crazy.”

If you were a calmer person, if you weren’t so freaked out about the impossibility of the situation and at your wit’s end just trying to _comprehend_ what the _fuck_ was going on you might find this incredibly awesome and cool.

But you weren’t calm. 

And this wasn’t awesome nor was it cool.

The complete opposite, in fact.

Because this whole thing was about as normal as a second moon, or your dog suddenly deciding it could walk on its hind legs all the while offering to make you a cup of coffee--decaf, obviously, because _wow_ you clearly needed to lay off the caffeine. Or sugar ...or something. Probably everything.

You’re still pacing, still clutching your head and maybe just slightly wishing you could just take a step out of reality for the moment to catch your breath because what. the. fuck. _What the fuck!_

But then again, would that even help? Because it sure seemed like reality was currently broken.

A miserable, high pitched whine escapes your throat and you feel your eyes burning with treacherous tears. You don’t deal with unexpected situations well and this is just…

You pivot on your heel and start chewing on a thumb, your opposite hand wrapping around your torso to clutch at your rib cage. You wouldn’t be surprised if you found yourself falling through a hole into your basement right about now. Afterall, how could you not have worn a hole through it by now with all this pacing?

Something of a strained laugh meets your ears and you snap your gaze to the side, your pace never slowing, and settle a glare at the person who had made the noise.

You let loose a laugh of your own, though it’s more bitter than anything.

Person. Hah! Yeah, right. If you could call a walking, talking, breathing (???) skeleton a person.

That stupid grin on his face only widens, a brow raising as he gives a lazy shrug in response.

You elect to refocus your attention on the task at hand: wearing a hole into your floor and trying to make sense of this ridiculous situation.

“Maybe this is a fever dream,” you lamely attempt to rationalize to yourself, returning your gaze to the hardwood floor beneath your feet. “I got sick or something and didn’t realize it and I’m dying or I’m in a coma and this is some weird ass dream concocted by my brain because wow I have no life and I’m totally nuts. Nuttier than a peanut in a peanut factory!”

You’re not making sense; you’re borderline hysterical and you don’t care because the question plaguing your mind is still: _what the fuck?!_

Despite racking your brain for _any_ possible answer you realize you just… can’t make sense of this. There’s just no way.

You slump to the floor in abject defeat.

“I’m crazy.” You announce as you pull your knees to your chest, hugging them tight. “I’m so crazy I’m seeing video game characters in my house and they won’t go away and I’ve got a one-way ticket to the loony bin.” You rest your forehead on your knees and close your eyes and let loose a strangled cry. “I’m boned. I am so totally boned.”

That damn skeleton laughs again and before you can shout at him to not even _dare_ he speaks up.

“well, boned, nice to meet ya. i’m sans.”

You let yourself fall to your side, equal parts mortified and stupefied and so, so angry because _what the fuck are you supposed to do about this_ and he just fucking _memed_ you.

“Nnnnooooooooooooooooo!” you manage to groan out from your fetal position on the floor. This is _not_ how you had planned to start off your winter break.


	2. Hey I Don't Know

You’re sitting on your couch, clutching a throw pillow to your chest. You’re desperately trying to ignore the sound of the voices bickering in your kitchen (something about how could the human _not_ have ingredients for spaghetti?! This tragedy must be addressed right away!), glaring indignantly at a dust bunny clinging to the edge of your entertainment center. 

“careful, bud,” that damn, stocky skeleton chuckles from somewhere behind you. You’re kind of surprised he hadn’t taken up residence on your couch, honestly, considering his lazy disposition. “glare any harder n’ you might just set it on fire.”

Your lips press together and your eyes narrow even further.

“Bite me,” you growl out, burying your face in the pillow.

“i’d take you up on that offer,” he starts and you let loose a groan, knowing exactly where this is going.

“but i don’t have the guts for it.”  
“But you don’t have the guts for it.”

You say together as you roll of your eyes, your tone deadpan.

With your face still buried in the plush of the throw pillow you miss the awkward expression that dusts across Sans’s face and the way an odd sweat forms along his frontal bone.

_This is not happening._ You’re still trying to convince yourself. _There is no conceivable way this can be happening._

It’s probably been an hour… maybe two? since this whole debacle started and you’re still not entirely convinced you _aren’t_ hallucinating or on some kind of drug trip. Or in a coma (maybe you’d crashed your car on your drive home from campus last night?).

Although, it is a little hard to refute the ache (and no doubt subsequent bruise forming) on your forehead from pounding it against the wall for a good minute. Pain was an indicator of being awake, right?

How unfortunate.

There was also the whole bit where you’d called up Naomi, a long-time friend of yours, and demanded she “ _Listen to this and tell me what you hear._ ”

Which, after demanding, you had proceeded to practically shove your phone into Sans’s eye socket, telling him to say something, _anything_ , into the receiver. If this was all some weird mind trip, Naomi wouldn’t be able to hear him, right?

So of _course_ Sans had taken the opportunity to tell a cruddy joke.

“ _what’s a skeleton’s favorite light-source?_ ”

Even though the phone hadn’t been on speaker you were able to make out Naomi’s light titter as she asked, “ _I don’t know, tell me._ ”

“ _a **shin** delier._” Sans had chuckled after delivering the line.

“ _That was terrible,_ ” Naomi had laughed out in response.

You’d rolled your eyes and quickly reclaimed your phone from Sans before she could further encourage him. You knew he wouldn’t stop once he got started.

“ _Who was that?_ ” She had asked once she knew you were back on the line. “ _I don’t recognize his voice. Does he go to our school? Where’d you meet him? He sounds **hot**._ ”

“ _Oh my god Naomi, no!_ ” You had whisper shouted into your phone, mortified, as you flushed and quickly turned away from the clearly eavesdropping monster, dragging one of the throw pillows on your couch into your clutches and stuffing it against your face as some kind of measly muffler-shield combo. “ _I’ll fill you in later but you’re not messing with me, right? You can hear him?_ ”

She had laughed at the odd question. “ _Well yeah, of course I can. Why wouldn’t I be able to? Is everything okay?_ ”

“ _Thanks Mimi, everything’s fine; talk later._ ” You had then quickly ended the call, shoved your phone into the pocket of your jacket, and drawn the pillow to your chest.

Those had been the two major flags against your whole hallucination/coma theory and you’re honestly not quite sure how to feel about it. On one hand, you’re apparently _not_ crazy (maybe) but on the other… 

Video game characters.

In your house.

Raiding your kitchen.

Breaking your dishes.

Touching all your things.

Telling terrible jokes to your best friend.

You give a choked laugh into the pillow.

So this is apparently real. And you have no better idea what to do about this situation than you did an hour ago.

In this moment you’re abundantly grateful you live alone. After all, if you can’t make sense of this, where would you even begin trying to explain it to someone else?

You take a deep breath and hold it in in an attempt to try and calm your nerves; to reign in your emotions the best you can. Slowly, you release the breath, lifting your head from the pillow to let it fall back against the cushions of the couch.

_I’ve got this_ , you assure yourself as you shut your eyes. _I can do this. We just need to talk. Compare notes. Figure out what happened; what went wrong or whatever and then move on from there._

_Baby steps_ , you tell yourself with a determined nod. No use letting yourself become any more overwhelmed than you already are. Besides, despite appearances, you’re probably not the only one ready to have a meltdown.

With the vaguest course of action decided upon, you snap your eyes open and search for the skeleton who had been standing against the back of your couch. He wasn’t there anymore but a quick glance to the side revealed he had taken up position on the love-seat kitty-corner to your own couch.

You marvel at the way he lay sprawled across the piece of furniture, arms crisscrossed behind his head, eyes shut as if he didn’t have a care in the world. As if he and everyone else currently intruding upon your home hadn’t just hopped between dimensions--across time and space and reality itself and crash landed into your living room.

You wonder how he (how _any_ of them) can just take this in stride.

“So,” you begin, shifting so your legs are now crossed, the pillow sitting on your lap. You lean back into the couch, half wishing you could just melt into it to avoid this conversation.

“so,” he parrots calmly.

You bite at your lower lip. How are you even supposed to broach this subject? Where do you even begin?

“So you’re kinda not supposed to be here.”

You flinch. Real smooth. Why don’t you just throw any and all semblance of tact out the window while you’re at it?

“I mean,” you try again, “you’re not real.” Oh god, you should just insert your foot in your mouth already. “Oh my god that sounds terrible. I mean- it’s like- ah… shit how do I say this?” You’re fidgeting, wringing the edges of the pillow in your hands. “Like… I’m not sure if you’re aware of it or not but like… ya’ll’re… video… game… characters?”

You manage to shift your gaze to Sans; he hasn’t moved. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought he was sleeping.

“dunno ‘bout you, bud,” he starts, never shifting from his position or bothering to crack an eye socket open, “but i feel pretty darn real.”

“I- Well- Yeah.” Your gaze drops back to the pillow in your lap, absently tracing the lines of stitching along the edges. “Y-yeah, ya’ll sure look real enough. I mean, for a second there I was questioning my sanity but then you and Naomi a-and what with Papyrus and Undyne over there, battling it out in the kitchen... Pretty uh... pretty sure plates don’t go breaking themselves.” You’re back to wringing the pillow. “I uhm… this is just. This is really ... _weird_?”

“heh. you’re tellin’ me, kid.”

“I just… do you know what happened? What’s happen _ing_? Because I don’t know about you, but uhm, weird ass wormholes appearing in the middle of one’s house isn’t exactly something that happens? Like... ever? Not here anyway. Not-” _in the real world_. You bite your tongue at that last comment and let the word hang.

You catch Sans shrug in your peripheral and can’t help but worry your lip.

God, this is so surreal. How is this a thing that is actually happening?

Today is the first day of winter break and all you had wanted to do was mess around on the computer. Do a little data mining with the Undertale game files. Maybe mess with a few files to see how it would affect your game. See if you couldn’t finally get into Room 269 and meet the Mystery Man for yourself. Never in your wildest dreams had you ever expected for your day to spiral into this lunacy.

_Oh god_ , a sudden thought pricked at the back of your mind as your stomach plummeted. _Is this my fault? Did… did messing with the game files somehow…?_ You hastily shake your head. _No. No way. There’s just no way. There’re hundreds--thousands--of people that’ve delved into the code before me. Messed with more than I have. That can’t be it, right?_

Maybe you just have a guilty conscience or something, but you’re suddenly unsure whether you can say you’re entirely free of blame for this strange situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	3. Sound of Madness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh. Well this might be getting a bit more serious than I had initially intended it to be. I suppose I can chalk that up to my mind demanding there be _some_ kind of plot involved to explain how the UT characters wound up in the "real world".  
> 
> Worry not, though, as these first few chapters are pretty much just establishing the setting and whatnot. I've got a number of scenarios planned out and that I am simply _dying_ to get to. ...Soon!

“Ugh. Okay, you know what?”

You’re not sure how long it’s been but you hazard a guess that it’s been at least fifteen minutes since you had asked Sans if he knew what was going on. He hadn’t said anything or given any kind of response outside of that shrug earlier.

“Fine.” you say. “Fine. I get it. You don’t want to talk about this right now. We can save it for later, I guess.” You throw your hands up in defeat. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t more than a little frustrated with Sans’s lack of reciprocation during your conversation--if you could even call it that--and slide yourself off the couch. “You just… I don’t know, just sleep there on the couch. Do your best at becoming one with the upholstery. I’m going to go do something more productive. Actually try to figure out what the heck is going on with this madness.”

You’re about to cross into the adjacent dining area when you throw a few words over your shoulder, just quiet enough for Sans to hear. You don’t mean anything by it, only hope that your words can possibly ignite even the tiniest spark of motivation in the short skeleton.

“Just… bear in mind that you can’t keep dodging your problems forever, Sans.”

You don’t catch the look the skeleton directs at your back; the way the pinpricks of light in his eyes darken and his grin falters and tenses ever so slightly.

* * * * *

As you enter the kitchen you notice the tall, unmistakable form of _The Great Papyrus_ stooped over a pile of ceramic shards varying in shapes, sizes, and colors. You absently mourn the loss of your plates--you notice at least one of your more favored ones is amongst the casualties.

You bite your lip. You really liked that one. Your parents had gotten it for you on one of their trips overseas.

_They’re just plates_ , you tell yourself, _they can be replaced; accidents happen. No biggie._

Papyrus is sweeping the pieces into a dustpan, all the while scolding Undyne on how she is not behaving as the best house guest she could be. Lack in spaghetti ingredients or not, that is no excuse to pilfer through their new human friend’s cabinets and break their dishes.

“PERHAPS YOU NEED TO LEARN A PRIVACY.... AND MAYBE SOME MANNERS,” you hear Papyrus scold the humanoid fish and you can’t quite contain the light laugh that escapes your lips.

Undyne directs her gaze to you, her single visible eye set in a heated glare.

“What’re _you_ laughing at, punk?” She practically shouts at you as you pat the taller skeleton’s arm, resting your hand across Papyrus’s radius and ulna.

You shake your head and bite back another laugh, pulling in your shoulders and ducking your head ever so slightly. “Nothing,” you respond in a placating manner, raising your free hand in surrender before shifting it to Papyrus. “Thanks for cleaning up after that mess but here, let me get that.”

He looks conflicted, his brows creasing in that weird way that skeleton monster bones move, before conceding at the stern look you give him. He hands you the dustpan and rests the edge of the broom he had been handling against the island counter. Undyne frowns for some reason (maybe just because of your general presence? You try not to think too hard on it), crossing her arms and leaning against the counter across from you.

“I’ll take it from here, Papyrus, no worries.” you assure him. “Besides, can’t just dump these into the trash. They’d cut up the bag and anyways, I can probably use ‘em for something.” You give the tall skeleton a soft smile. “Really. It’s nothing,” you continue to reassure him.

You should probably give him something to do, to take his mind off any possible guilt he may be feeling about your broken dishes.

“D’you think you could do me a favor?” you venture.

Papyrus seems to perk at that and you have to bite the inside of your lip to keep your grin under control.

He is such an adorable doof.

“THERE IS NOTHING I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, CANNOT DO!” He announces, striking his signature pose; a hand on his hip, the other pressed against his chest, a smug expression adorning his skull. You’re a little disappointed that his scarf doesn’t flutter in an imaginary wind. “TELL ME, NEW HUMAN FRIEND, WHAT I CAN DO FOR YOU?”

You can’t quite contain a giggle and take a moment to shake your head. When it came to the game you were never really able to maintain your composure when you read through Papyrus’s dialog--be it from the phone calls, his in-battle dialog, the “date”, or otherwise, and now that you have the real thing in front of you? The muscles in your face are already aching from smiling so much.

“Think you could track down Alphys and Frisk for me? I think we’ve all had enough time to cool our heads after… well, you know.” You shift your gaze to the broken plate shards resting in the plastic dustpan you had set on the island, smile finally dying down, and bite at your lip. When you continue, you shift your gaze back to the skeleton. “I want to get everyone together in the living room. I think we should probably talk about ah… about all of… _this_.” You say, moving your arms to gesture at the space around you with a half shrug. “Think you’re up for the challenge?”

“NYEH HEH HEH! OF COURSE, HUMAN! SUCH A SIMPLE MISSION FOR ONE AS AMAZING AS I!” And without a further word, Papyrus is bolting down the hallway leading further into your house; a skeleton on a mission.

It’s just you and Undyne now.

You’re back to worrying your lip, unsure of what to say or how to even begin starting a conversation with the intimidating woman. So you elect to instead deal with the broken bits of ceramic.

You’re bent over, digging a small cardboard box out from one of the cabinets in the island when you hear Undyne clear her throat. Startled, you bolt up, conking your head on the edge of the cabinet opening in your rush to stand and give her your full attention.

“Ooowwww…” you hiss, bent over and clutching your head, an eye squinted shut.

“What a nerd,” you hear Undyne mutter, though her tone of voice belies her words as anything but insulting.

You slide the cardboard box up onto the counter as you gingerly rub at your skull, closing the cabinet door as you stand.

“Uh… yeah?” You prompt, looking to the scaled monster.

Undyne is still leaning against the countertop, arms crossed, and you note she’s frowning, avoiding eye contact.

“...sorry.” You have to strain your ears to hear her say. “About your dishes.” She trudges on, louder this time, though still not looking you in the eye. She sounds almost ...reluctant with her apology. “Got a little frustrated.”

You laugh, waving a dismissive hand at her and move to stand beside her. “Don’t worry about it; I’m a tough girl! It’s gonna take a lot more than a couple’ve broken dishes to get me riled up!” 

_Something like... oh, I don’t know, a cast of fictional characters launching themselves into my home._ You think darkly, but don’t dare voice.

You punch the top of Undyne’s shoulder in jest, trying to convey your point, before you suddenly bristle and freeze up, fist still hovering in the air. A shudder races down your spine and you cast a nervous glance at the woman’s face. _Oh no… oh no oh no oh no oh no she is going to kick my ass isn’t she? I totally just invaded her personal space and **punched** her._ She’s looking at you out of the corner of her eye, brow raised. _I’m so dead. I’m **so freaking dead**._

She’s moving before you can even flinch and suddenly you find yourself in a headlock, something grinding against your head.

A… a noogie? Is Undyne giving you a freaking _noogie_?? You try to twist in her hold to see her face but alas, you are trapped.

“You call that a punch?!” She shouts. “OH MY GOD, you’re almost as much of a weenie as the kid! Ufufufu! What a nerd!” The noogie is kind of painful, especially when her knuckles drift towards the fresh sore spot on your head, but you’re relieved she hadn’t been offended.

After some painful struggling and noogie-ing you could’ve gone your whole life without, Undyne lets you go. You stumble back and struggle to fix your hair, flattening it down the best you can, and attempt to adjust your clothing.

“I- uh… thanks? I think?” You’re at a loss for what to say. Undyne is definitely way more overwhelming in person than as coding on a computer screen. ...well. Yeah. Obviously. But that’s beside the point.

“Can’t believe I was worried about a punk like you!” She laughs out, clutching at the edge of the counter, doubled over as she guffaws at… whatever it is she finds so funny.

“Uh…”

“You’re alright, punk!” she says, moving to drape a hand over your shoulders, directing you towards the living room. “C’mon! We can sit down while we wait for Papyrus to round up Alphys and the squirt!”

You let Undyne direct you back to the couch you had abandoned meer minutes ago, sitting down with crossed legs as you reclaim your poor, abused throw pillow, holding it in your lap loosely. The Captain of the Royal Guard unceremoniously plopping down beside you.

You are so confused and you wonder if you'll ever _stop_ being in this uncomfortable state of constant confusion.

You glance to the love-seat and are not surprised to note that Sans still hasn’t moved a single, figurative muscle. You absently wonder if he didn't respond to you earlier because he had actually fallen asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for your feedback! All your comments, kudos, subs, and bookmarks bring a real smile to my face!
> 
> From here on out, things should start picking up in the next couple of chapters. ;)


	4. Here We Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter is so blegh. Writing this one was very ...painful. I definitely struggled and it's honestly far from my favorite (as in I might very possibly hate it). Next chapter might be a similar case but we'll see. I just need to get all this cleared from the air between everyone before I can get to the fun bits I made this story for. I'm so excited for the bitssss but plot keeps getting in the waaaayyy. Which there is one. That will be addressed. Eventually. Considering I spent about a half hour jotting additional stuff down for it last night. So look forward to that I guess?
> 
> On a random note, chapters will probably average between 1,000-3,000 words. So they'll typically be pretty short.

Not a minute later, Papyrus struts into the living room; a flustered, embarrassed looking Alphys under one arm, her face buried behind her claws, and a quietly giggling Frisk under his other. He steps around to the front of the couch, a triumphant look on his bony face.

“NO NEED TO THANK ME,” he begins as he gently sets Alphys on the couch between you and Undyne (who wastes no time in draping an arm over the flustered, yellow monster’s shoulder and pulling her close), “IT WAS YOUR PLEASURE TO HAVE THE GREAT PAPYRUS DO YOU A SERVICE!” He finishes as he carefully plops Frisk in the space left on the couch between you and Alphys, the child attempting to stifle their laughter.

You can’t help but smile and agree with the big doof.

“You are absolutely correct, you cool dude you.” you say, giving Papyrus a wink and shooting a finger gun at him, smiling broadly all the while. You don’t miss the adorable orange blush that creeps along his face and can only smile wider, the corners of your eyes crinkling.

“YES. WELL.” He clears his throat, quickly turning from you and moving to the love-seat Sans was currently melting into. “NOW THAT WE ARE ALL HERE...“ Papyrus lifts Sans up like the sack of lazy bones he is and sets him in an upright seated position to one side of the small couch, the smaller skeleton not even uttering a single protest. Papyrus then wastes no time in seating himself on the now open spot. “SHALL WE GET TO WORK ON SOLVING THIS VERY STRANGE PUZZLE?”

A weighted silence falls on the room, no one quite sure how or where to start.

You cast a glance at Sans, shifting your position so you’re leaning against the arm of the couch, legs no longer crossed and instead folded in front of you, arms hugging the throw pillow to your chest.

“Well then,” you quietly direct to the lazy skeleton whose eye sockets have remained closed, “guess later came a bit earlier than expected.” Sans only responds with a half shrug.

You choose not to press him for a response, doubting he’ll offer anything constructive to the conversation anyway. If he’s anything like his in-game persona, you’re well aware of how reluctant he can be to discuss anything outright if he doesn’t have to.

“U-uhm.” Surprisingly enough, it’s Alphys that eventually ventures to start. “S-s-so… n-nice… nice house you h-have here.”

You smile warmly at the yellow reptilian monster.

“Thanks,” you tell her, “it’s actually my parents’ place though. They deal with property--rent out a lot of various units and such. Managed to work out a deal with ‘em to get this place rent free while I finish college. I pay for utilities and groceries n’ such out of my own pocket though.” You’ve begun fiddling with the throw pillow again. “No worries, though,” you add at the nervous expression that crosses her face, “I’ve pretty much got the place to myself; no one else lives here.” You tack on quickly, hoping to alleviate any worry they might have at having to deal with another panicking human.

“O-oh. That… that s-sounds nice…”

Another awkward silence settles.

A minute passes.

And then another.

One more...

“NGAAAAHHH!!” Undyne suddenly shouts, startling you (and Alphys) enough that you jolt in your seat. “ENOUGH PUSSYFOOTING AROUND!” She continues to shout, punching the cushion of the couch’s arm with her free hand. “What exactly is going on here?!” The volume of her voice drops, though only slightly. “You know something about what’s goin’ on, don’t cha, you punk?” Trust Undyne to get straight to the point. She isn’t exactly glaring at you but her stern gaze is unsettling nonetheless. “You seem cool and all but it’s kinda weird how familiar with us you seem even though I can’t say we’ve ever met.” She pauses to glance at the view outside your bay window. “And where the heck are we? Nothing looks familiar around here!” She points accusingly at the view outside the window. “Last I recall we were at the boneheads’ place!”

You’re vaguely aware that everyone is now looking at you expectantly. What are you supposed to say? It’s not like you know anything more than they do!

You worry your lip and glance at Sans in the vain hope that he’ll step in to supply something to placate Undyne. You had already gone over this a bit with him, after all.

He doesn’t say anything, of course, still playing that damn “sleeping” act of his.

You purse your lips and furrow your brows. Guess there’s no avoiding it any longer.

“Don’t....” you pause to swallow a lump in your throat and shift your gaze to the side, not daring to look anyone in the eye, “don’t… freak out or anything, okay? I can’t tell you anything about how you all wound up here--I’m as clueless about that as you are and would like answers about that just as much as you do, I’m sure--but I guess the reason I act so familiar with you guys despite us having never met before is because I… uh… I kind of... _do_ know you guys?”

You chance a glance around the room to gauge everyone’s reaction. Papyrus looks confused but curious, Sans is… well… Sans, Undyne’s eyes are narrowed, while Alphys and Frisk are both looking at you with something of a curious, pleading look. “Go on.” They’re all telling you.

“So… like…” you bite at your lip and redirect your gaze to the lamp sitting on an end table. Wow, what an interesting lamp you have. “I know that Papyrus has an obsession with spaghetti and feeds Sans’s pet rock sprinkles and can’t stand Grillby’s whereas Sans has a habit of collecting socks and drinking ketchup straight out of the bottle and tells terrible skeleton puns. I know that Alphys is the Royal scientist and that she built Mettaton’s body and that her favorite anime is Mew Mew: Kissy Cutie while Undyne thought anime was real and that she often gives Papyrus cooking lessons and can apparently play the piano. And Frisk… well… I know that Frisk is a very _determined_ kid.” You practically word vomit, the words flying from your mouth without a second thought.

You can sense the questions hanging in the air but decide it best not to stop, lest you lose the nerve.

“I know how monsters were sealed behind a barrier under some mountain called Ebott for a long time, that the monsters were collecting the souls of humans that had fallen into the Underground to break said barrier. I know about Flowey and Asriel and Chara, about what happened to the latter two and how it all plays into Flowey.”

Too busy studying your lamp you miss the way Alphys tenses, the way the corners of Frisk’s lips dip in a frown.

You sigh, closing your eyes as you do so, slowly dragging in the breath before releasing it just as slowly.

“There’re some other things I know--mostly really trivial stuff though. Nothing… really worth mentioning.” Especially when you’re unsure exactly what point in their timeline they’re from, of whether Frisk has told any of the monsters about their ability to Save and Reset or not. You don’t want to say something that might put anyone in a bad position.

You absently begin to fiddle with the edges of the pillow, eyes still closed.

_“How?”_ you can sense the unspoken question hanging in the air.

“Undertale.” You say suddenly, eyes opening to meet everyone’s gaze. “It’s a game. A video game about… about you guys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(」∠ ､ﾝ､)_


	5. Unnecessary Tension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6:30 AM update, GO!   
>  Bit of a lengthy chapter ahead. Somewhere around 4k words and full of plot! I guess. Brace yourself?
> 
> Anyway, a bit of dialog ripped straight from the game in this chapter, for obvious reasons, so if you haven't played the game and are leery of spoilers (why are you reading this??) you've been warned. ...not that there's really anything substantial discussed that hasn't already been blurted out by Reader.

You’re not quite sure how to describe their overall reaction. You settle on it could have been worse… but maybe it also could have been better?

You had noticed the way Frisk had tensed at the revelation, how uncomfortable and nervous they had looked. You decide that probably meant the kid hadn’t confided in their friends about the Saves and Resets. You decided you’ll gloss over that; avoid touching on the subject as best you can for Frisk’s sake.

You had caught Alphys quietly saying something about how this sounded like an anime she’d watched once. You had hoped that meant she was taking this revelation well but a closer inspection of her face told another story. Alphys had looked conflicted. Something of a mix between excited (or maybe curious?) yet horrified.

She had started to sweat, wringing her claws.

If you knew about Flowey, about Asriel and Chara and her position, you probably knew about her past experiments with DT and the Amalgamates. Sure, the secret had been aired long ago but it was still a touchy subject. Especially at the thought of a stranger having that kind of access to a mistake she still so heavily regretted--had tried so hard to keep secret. Alphys didn’t even want to think about the implications of what it meant that a part of her past she would rather have buried forever was so easily accessed by a multitude of people she never knew; of people she would never know. She tried not to think about what those anonymous faces thought of her, of how they undoubtedly judged her.

When you had looked at Undyne her expression had been reminiscent of the one she’d worn during the cooking date with Frisk. The one she would give you if you pointed at her with the summoned spear instead of any of the drink options she had placed on her kitchen counter. Confused. Unsure how to interpret what was before her. Still processing.

Papyrus wasn’t any better--confused and not quite sure how to wrap his head around what you said. Eventually, he said it was only to be expected for someone to make a game about someone as great as him. You wondered how narcissism could be an endearing trait.

_Only Papyrus could pull off something like that_ , you had thought.

You had then looked at Sans and had to bite back a yelp. His eye sockets had been open but lacking those pinpricks of light. It was as if you were staring into an endless void, the void staring right on back. You had quickly looked away, unable to hold that uncomfortable stare for long. It made your skin crawl.

You knew what the lack of those pinpricks meant and it had you wondering why Sans was suddenly acting so aloof and unsettling. You wondered if you had said something to offend him. He had been jovial earlier--had cracked jokes and been relatively friendly.

But now…

What had changed? Did he perhaps feel threatened by you? By this whole situation?

You wanted to ask him about the shift in his demeanor. It couldn’t _just_ be the whole “yer a vidja game character, Sans” spiel, right?

_Later_ , you had told yourself, _when Papyrus and the others aren’t around._

You didn’t say anything else, giving them the time they undoubtedly needed to digest everything--to let it all sink in. You were honestly mostly glad nothing had been broken following the revelation. Though, for a second there, it had looked like Undyne would have liked nothing more than to flip your coffee table out the window. You were abundantly glad she hadn’t. You had no idea how you would explain something like that to your parents.

Eventually, Undyne demanded immediate proof to your claim. She wanted to see this “game”. Although no one else spoke up, you’d sensed a silent agreement between all present. You had asked if she was sure, if they really wanted to subject themselves to that and Undyne had only responded by threatening to suplex you into the basement if you didn’t hurry it up.

You hastily push yourself up from the couch and move to the coffee table, abandoning the small pillow you had been clutching to your chest on the empty space you left behind. You have to bite at your bottom lip to keep yourself from asking them if they are really, _really_ sure about this; if you had no idea how you would explain a busted window, you had even less of an idea how you would explain a human-shaped hole in the floor.

You squat on the floor, perched before your laptop that lay on the coffee table. Undyne, Alphys, and Frisk on the sofa at your back, Sans and Papyrus to your side. You can feel their heavy stares and try your best to suppress a shudder.

You flip the laptop screen up and boot the computer, shifting into a seated position, your knees bent and tucked under yourself. You’re still worrying your lip, trying to decide what to say, where to even begin, when the lock screen loads. You press the number lock key and deftly input the digits of your log-in code on the number pad. Within a few seconds your desktop is displayed on screen and you can’t help but fidget nervously, having spaced the fact your wallpaper was a slightly modified Undertale screen cap of Monster Kind and Frisk overlooking the Capital. _Maybe they won’t recognize it_ , you silently hope, _it is pixelated, after all_. You’re not feeling brave enough to look back to gauge any possible reactions. You think maybe you hear a sharp inhale from someone but brush it off.

After a minute or so the computer has finished loading and starting up various programs so you reach to the wireless mouse lying off to the side. You flick it on, jiggling the device on the surface of the coffee table to test it, the cursor on screen mimicking your movements.

The messenger program you have installed blinks off to the side, notifying you that you have new, unread notifications (probably from Naomi--she’s always quick to pounce when she sees you log-on) but you ignore the highlighted icon, instead directing your cursor to hover over the Steam icon on your taskbar. You click it and wait for the program as it searches for updates.

Two windows pop up not a minute later and you exit out of the one advertising the weekly sales and releases. An odd, uncomfortable prickling sensation runs down your back as you mouse over the “Library” tab and click it.

You’re fidgeting again, the multiple sets of eyes heavy on your back. It feels like they might have shifted closer but without looking, you can’t say for sure.

Of course Undertale just so happens to be the game selected, immediately showing on screen, it having been what you had last played.

There’s the little red heart icon alongside the game title, the “Play” option below that, right next to your game stats: You’ve Played 58 hours; Last Played 12/17/15. There’s the faded screen cap of a confrontation battle with three monsters: a Loox, a Vegetoid, and a Migosp, serving as the background image for the landing page. A list of your friends that also play it. Recent News. Loads upon loads of awkward unease as you hover the cursor over “Play”.

You shift to look behind you ever so slightly and yup, they’ve all scrunched up closer behind you, literally on the edge of their seats; save Sans, that is, whose eyes are no longer empty pits though the pinpricks of light that mark his gaze are dimmer than usual. You’re not sure what to make of that. You turn back to the screen and click “Play”, trying to ignore the uncomfortable tingling down your spine.

A launch window appears before quickly being replaced by the small game window itself, the logo stretched across it. You press the F4 key, setting it to full screen so everyone can see easier, and shift to the side so as not to obscure the view.

> **Long ago, two races ruled the world:  
>  HUMANS and MONSTERS**

The screen reads, an image of a faceless monster resembling Toriel standing beside a cloaked human grasping a spear, hair covering their own face. 

> **One day, war broke out between the two races.**

Monsters and Humans are at opposite ends of the image in a standoff, silhouetted. What appears to be Asgore’s silhouette wields his trident, the humans brandishing swords and spears and torches. 

> **After a long battle, the humans were victorious.**

Humans are standing triumphant above monsterkind, glaring down upon the defeated creatures. 

>   **They sealed the monsters underground with a magic spell.**
> 
> **Many years later…**

The screen fades to black, save for the white of the text. 

> **MT. EBOTT**  
>  **201X**

It’s a shot of Mt. Ebott and the surrounding landscape. 

> **Legends say that those who climb the mountain never return.**

A child is running through trees and foliage toward the gaping maw of a cave opening and you barely catch a whispered “Chara” from Frisk.

The images continue. The child enters the cave, taking in the sight of a large hole in the cavern floor. They trip on a vine and take a long, impossible fall into the underground below. They’re laying face down at the entrance to the Ruins and the camera slowly pans upwards to a distant hole in the the ceiling above. The screen fades to black before the game logo appears on screen once more. 

> **UNDERTALE**  
>  [PRESS Z OR ENTER]

You reach towards the keyboard and hit the enter key before the intro can replay itself.

The load screen displays. 

> **Chara          LV1          436:55**  
>  **Hotland - Core End**
> 
> ****Continue          Reset** **

A sprite of Toriel is sitting in her reading chair, centered toward the bottom of the screen as if spotlit, a book in her hands; she’s snoozing, little z’s drifting from her. Sprites of Undyne and Papyrus are to the right of the screen, just at the edge of the “spotlight”. Undyne is standing on Papyrus’s head, arms and knees bent, while the latter strikes a pose, one hand on his hip and the other at his chest, a smug look upon his face. Sans’s sprite is up in the top left corner, standing on “Chara”, winking with that ever-present grin on his face.

You absently register an excited squeal from Papyrus and something of an amused sounding huff from Undyne.

The “Continue” button is highlighted. You look to the gathered group sheepishly.

“I was actually… kind of in the middle of a run…” you begin slowly, hesitantly, feeling guilty for something you really shouldn’t. It was just a game to you, after all ...at least, it had been. ...It still is, isn’t it?

You’re not so sure anymore.

You press z and the game loads. It’s Frisk, standing outside the door you enter at the end of the Core to battle with Mettaton. You had finished that fight last night and had planned on getting through the rest of your current True-Pacifist run today, after which you had intended on messing with the game files.

“I uh… I left off after the fight with Mettaton. After Alphys-” you cough to clear your throat for no other reason than to stall for time, pointedly avoiding looking at the yellow, scaled monster, “-after Alphys confesses about the uh. The stuff she did. To Frisk.”

God this is so weird.

Your lay your right index, middle, and ring finger on the arrow keys and absently move the on-screen Frisk to the elevator, exiting out to the main entry floor of the Core. Your gaze is focused on the screen so you don’t have to look at anyone. They aren’t saying anything and it’s making you fidget again. Why aren’t they saying anything?

You entertain the thought that maybe they’ve disappeared, or that they were never really there, that this really is just some elaborate, crazy lucid dream. A glance away from the screen ensures you otherwise. Yes. They’re still here. A bite to the inside of your cheek and the pounding in your head tells you that yes, you’re really still awake. This is still happening. They’re just shell shocked--at a loss for words. You’re not dreaming.

Unfortunately.

You suppose you can’t blame them, though. You have to admit, it would be pretty jarring to suddenly learn a good chunk of your life has been splayed out for anyone to see. It’s one thing to hear about it and another entirely to actually see it for yourself.

You wonder, absently, what you would do if you were suddenly informed that your life was nothing but a fictional story created simply to entertain others. You shudder at the thought.

You decide you won’t say anything until one of them speaks up first. You’ll just continue with the game.

So you do just that.

You move in-game Frisk downwards, crossing into the bridge between the Core and the MTT Resort. Just as you get to the balcony, in-game Frisk’s phone rings, Undyne on the other line.

A dialog box pops up, a little pixelated Undyne head to the left. She’s calling to ask in-game Frisk to meet her outside Papyrus’s house. You quickly alternate between the z and x keys to hurry through the dialog and just as you reach the last bit of text, a loud voice startles you.

“IS THAT ME!?” Suddenly there’s boisterous laughing, Undyne pointing at the screen--at the little headshot of her in the dialog box. “Oh man I look even dorkier there than I did on the other screen!!” You can just barely make out tears gathering at the corner of her eye as she continues to laugh. “Oh man, and look at the little you, squirt!!” She manages to reach around Alphys to grab Frisk and traps them in a headlock, noogie-ing the poor kid. “They got you spot on! Right down that ridiculous mug a’ yours and the silly striped shirt!”

Frisk giggles and squirms and you release a breath you hadn’t realized you’d ever taken.

“Ah… so is this enough? Or…”

“What!? NO!!” Undyne shouts, releasing Frisk, who barely manages to keep themself from falling off the couch with Alphys’s help. In the blink of an eye Undyne’s kneeling next to you, her hands slamming on the coffee table, causing you to jump slightly. “Keep going!” Her eye is glowing in amusement, her grin nearly splitting her face, “I wanna see the other nerds!!”

“Ah… okay…” you concede hesitantly, moving in-game Frisk through the MTT Resort. “I don’t know if you caught it or not, but that was the phone call where you asked Frisk to deliver your letter to Alphys...?” You’re navigating through Hotland, passing by the Nice Cream Guy and Royal Guards 01 and 02. Into the elevator by Heats Flamesman. You select Right Floor 2 and in-game Frisk steps out after a short cutscene.

You hit the ctrl key, bringing up the in-game menu and select CELL, a small red heart to the left of a line of text that reads: Papyrus and Undyne. Three lines below that read: Dimensional Box A, Dimensional Box B, Toriel’s Phone.

“I mean, I can continue on, but then there’s the whole date in the garbage dump and the True Lab business directly afterwards.” You hit the z key, initiating a call. 

> *** Ring. . .  Ring. . .**

You’re not looking behind you, so you don’t see the beads of nervous sweat forming on Alphys’s forehead. Even _that_ embarrassing scenario was a part of this game!? Wasn’t the True Lab business enough??

“Just a bit more,” Undyne says, taking note of Alphy’s growing discomfort, laying a strong, supportive and comforting hand on the yellow monster’s knee. Undyne doesn’t want to do anything to upset the scientist but she’s so curious…

“Well, if you’re sure…” you relent. 

> **WAIT, UNDYNE. IF THE R STANDS FOR RED. . .**  
>  **WHAT COLOR DOES THE L STAND FOR?**

The dialog box pops up on screen, a tiny little headshot of Papyrus in the corner. Undyne laughs and comments on how it looks _just like you, Papyrus!_ while the tall skeleton... squeals…? You're not sure how to describe the sound, honestly. The sprite starts off the conversation looking to the side pensively, his expression then shifting to confusion, his brows quirked upwards and sweat beading along his skull. 

> *** Uhhhh. . .**  
>  *** Light green.**

In-game Undyne offers. 

> **OH! OF COURSE!**  
>  **WAIT. ISN’T THAT TWO WORDS?**
> 
> *** light sea green.**

A headshot of Sans pops up alongside the text, his left eye closed in a wink.

“LOOK, SANS! THE LIKENESS IS UNCANNY!” Papyrus cries excitedly, pointing at the screen. 

> **THREE DOESN’T FIX THE ISSUE!**

“OH!” You hear the younger of the skeleton brothers exclaim behind you. “I REMEMBER THIS! WE WERE DISCUSSING WHAT THE LETTERS ON THE ELEVATORS MEANT!” You turn to look at him and see he has a hand cupping his chin in thought.

“IT IS AS I THOUGHT, UNDYNE!” he says, moving to cross his arms in triumph and puffing out his chest ever so slightly, “THE L AND R _DO_ STAND FOR LEFT AND RIGHT!”

Undyne grumbles beside you, unwilling to accept it, muttering how it still makes no sense.

You elect not to comment but do let a couple laughs escape, redirecting your attention to the computer and opening the game menu again, repeating the call. 

> *** Ring. . .  Ring. . .**
> 
> *** light sea foam green.**
> 
> **AREN’T YOU WORKING IN THE VERY NEXT ROOM!?**

You move the sprite left, into the next room, as Papyrus makes a comment about Sans and his japes. The Hot Dog Harpy is to the right of Sans’s empty sentry post/hotdog stand, the Hot Dog Vulkin towards the bottom center of the platform--each monster in possession of a hotdog.

You place another call to in-game Papyrus and Undyne. 

> *** Ring. . .  Ring. . .**
> 
> **MY BROTHER ISN’T EVEN THERE???**  
>  **WASN’T HE SLACKING OFF BY SELLING HOTDOGS?**  
>  **NOW HE’S SLACKING OFF FROM SLACKING OFF. . .**  
>  **TRULY MY BROTHER IS A MASTER.**

There’s a soft “heh” behind you, Sans no doubt amused by his brother’s commentary. 

> *** Ring. . .  Ring. . .**
> 
> **NO FURTHER COMMENT.**

You direct in-game Frisk back to the elevator and select “Left Floor 1”.

“WHOEVER MADE THIS GAME SURE DID THEIR RESEARCH!” Papyrus says. “TO HAVE SUCH ACCURATE RECOUNTS OF OUR PHONE CALLS WITH THE LITTLE HUMAN!” He sounds proud, awed, even.

“I-I wonder…” Alphys starts hesitantly as you maneuver in-game Frisk passed the first save point in Hotland and down towards the River Person. “H-how did they get all this? H-how is it all… all so a-accurate? The p-p-pixel style throws th-things off a b-bit but it’s all…” She lets the rest of the sentence hang. It’s all so spot-on and it’s unnerving. Creepy.

You stop what you’re doing on screen, the little Frisk sprite standing before the River Person. 

> *** Tra la la.**  
>  *** Care for a ride?**

The dialog box reads.

You turn to look at the little reptile, pulling your hands to rest in your lap.

“You’re talking like this isn’t just a game. Like it’s… all real?” You’re back to worrying your lip, hoping you’re not upsetting your company with your ignorance. “Like all this really happened?”

“kid.” Sans speaks up and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t surprised to hear him actively taking part in the conversation. You shift your attention to him. “mentioned it earlier, but that’s exactly what we are: real. no less realer than you, in fact.”

Uncomfortable and unsettled, you shift your attention back to the screen, your hands snaking back onto the keyboard. 

> *** (Ride in the boat?)**
> 
> **♥ Yes          No**

You hit the z key, selecting the affirmative option.

“So… what’re you trying to say?” You frown at the screen, thinking.  

> *** Where will we go today?**
> 
> **♥ Snowdin          Waterfall**

“That this game is based off of reality? Not this one, obviously,” you tap z again, “but another? One where everything that happens in Undertale actually happened as real events in another dimension? The one you guys are all apparently from?” 

> *** Then we’re off. . .**

“Are you trying to say that this game is some kind of weird window into another world?” Another tap to the z key and the River Person’s boat departs. “Isn’t that a bit of a stretch? Last I heard, talk of alternate dimensions and universes and all that jazz was still theoretical science; more science fiction than science fact.” Your hands still laying across the keyboard, you twist to look back at Sans. “I mean, how is that even possible? And to have things relayed right down to a ‘T’? What’re the chances?”

“obviously not impossible, bud.” Sans replies with a shrug. You tap the z key again, forcefully blowing air out of your nose. 

> *** Tra la la.**

“Okay…” you reply, drawing out the second syllable, “fair point, I guess, but then there’s a difference between a _game_  being used as a medium to tell the story of another world and _people_ from another world _popping into another_. Like… the first one’s hard enough to wrap my head around being a thing that happened but the second? That’s even more unbelievable.” You pull your hands from the computer, snapping them palm-up, fingers splayed, a slight raise to your shoulders before you drop them back to the keyboard, not exactly paying attention to the screen anymore. Your attention instead more focused on getting answers from the monsters and human around you.

“whelp, guess you better start believin’ then, huh?” Sans replies, his grin widening, a brow raised. You huff, blowing air out of your nose once more, and absently tap z again. 

> *** Beware of the man who speaks in hands.**

“Not funny.” You give the blue hooded skeleton a weak glare. “Just. How is this even possible?” You’re narrowing your eyes and shaking your head as you speak. “I’m just gonna go ahead and say that this is all on you guys ‘cause I was literally just sitting here getting ready to enjoy the first day of my break from school.” Another absentminded tap to the z key shifts the screen to the riverbank at the edge of Snowdin. Another two bring up the River Person’s parting dialog. 

> *** Come again some time.**  
>  *** Tra la la.**

“I’m an art student,” you continue, unperturbed, “and while I may like to brush up on the sciences every now and again in the form of an interesting article online or show on TV, I’m not one to go around inventing space-time machines that enable inter-dimensional travel or that rip holes in the fabric of reality. Kiiiind of a bit outta my area of expertise.”

You wait for Sans to say something--to crack a joke or a snarky comment of some kind--but he doesn’t say anything. He just sits there with a blank expression on his face, his eye sockets voids of black once more. Confused, you look back at the screen. There’s nothing odd or out of place on it and judging by everyone else’s faces, they hadn’t seen anything either.

“Ah… Sans?” You wave at the skeleton in hopes of rousing him out of whatever daze he had apparently fallen into. “Hello? Earth to Sans?” You twist to fully face him, your back to the computer, and lean forward, snapping a couple times. “Yo! Bone head!”

Finally, those pinpricks of light in his eyes return. They shift to look at your hand, fingers poised to let loose another snap, before meeting your gaze.

“heh. sorry ‘bout that.” he apologizes as he closes his eye sockets and sinks into the cushions of the couch. “thanks for **snapping** me back to reality.”

“Ugh.” you groan as you let your hand drop, an I-am-so-done-with-you-right-now expression settling across your face. “You are not welcome; I regret ever doing that.”

“NYEH!” Papyrus lights up, suddenly sitting straighter as he looks to you. “HUMAN!” he cries, “I SEE YOU, TOO, CANNOT STAND MY BROTHER’S AWFUL PUNS!”

“They’re absolutely terrible,” you agree with a solemn frown and shake of your head, eyes closed.

“THE WORST!” Papyrus declares.

“The worst.” You repeat, nodding.

Papyrus lets loose a few “Nyeh heh hehs” and you can’t help but laugh along lightly. Such an adorkable skeleton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally startin' to get to where I've been wanting to be since I started! I'm excited! Are you excited?
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I want to thank everyone for your amazing comments and kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions! I'm terrible at replying to comments, admittedly, (I'm so sorry I'm super shy and I keep running into errors) but I read and enjoy every single one!
> 
> If you would like to get a hold of me, feel free to contact me via my tumblr: redeyedryu.tumblr.com


	6. Nothing's Clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was one of the first things Sans had noticed about you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly. This story has run away from me! I had wanted to write this story as silly, nonsensical crack with equally silly misadventures between reader and the UT crew but somewhere along the line it decided it wanted to be taken seriously and developed itself a plot. >:T But oh well. I'm enjoying this route, too.
> 
> Also, apologies for the super late (and rather short) update. I've been incredibly busy lately trying to settle and adjust, what with all this moving I've been doing. Hopefully it won't take me as long for the next chapter but we'll see.;;

“Anyway, guys,” you start, shuffling a bit and raising from the floor with a stretch, “I’m kind of hungry. What d’ya’ll say we break for lunch? We can pick this back up afterwards.”

Everyone is quick to agree, some more so than others for reasons less related to food, and Frisk’s stomach growling only cements the decision. Everyone begins raising to their feet, the kitchen and nourishment being the end goal.

You exit out of the Undertale game window and snap your laptop closed.

“OH! WE SHOULD MAKE SPAGHETTI!!” Papyrus proclaims excitedly before his expression quickly falls. “NYOH HO HO…” he says, a disappointed frown dipping the edges of his jaw, “I FORGOT. THE HUMAN DOES NOT HAVE THE NECESSARY INGREDIENTS.” He seems to deflate upon remembering.

You stand up, shooting the skeleton an apologetic look as you shuffle towards the kitchen with everyone in tow.

“Sorry, skelebro,” you say as you stretch, straightening your back before twisting left and right, earning satisfying pops along your spine as you do so (and you barely catch the distressed look that flutters across Sans’s and Papyrus’s faces. _Interesting…_ , you think). “I’m more of an alfredo kinda girl so I don’t usually buy spaghetti.” You hear another “NYOH” of disappointment. “BUT!” you add quickly, not wanting to leave the precious cinnamon roll upset and disappointed. “I can pick some stuff up later, just for you. How’s that sound?” 

Papyrus immediately brightens. ”YES!” he shouts, ecstatic, “THAT IS A GREAT IDEA, NEW HUMAN FRIEND! IT IS TERRIBLE THAT YOU HAVE BEEN MISSING OUT ON THE WONDERS OF SPAGHETTI! THIS TRAGEDY MUST BE REMEDIED RIGHT AWAY!” 

You chuckle as you pad into the kitchen, wasting no time digging into your cupboards for a sauce pan and a skillet, placing them on your stove top once you gather them. “If by right away you mean later tonight, then yes, definitely, Papyrus. In the meantime, how does chicken alfredo sound? It’s not spaghetti but it is another kind of pasta.” You had been planning on cooking it for dinner tonight anyway, so why not?

Papyrus looks pensive for a few moments, a hand cupping his chin and eye sockets narrowed, before finally saying, “I’LL ALLOW IT.”

“Guys?” You address everyone else, giving them the chance to protest should they have any qualms with the meal of choice. No one does, so you set about gathering the necessary ingredients. Box of pasta, jars of sauce, thawed chicken breasts in the fridge, a couple cloves of garlic and half an onion. You’ll pull herbs and spices from their niche as you need them.

Papyrus is hovering behind you, watching everything you do with rapt interest--to offer you assistance and give you pointers, he says. If Undyne’s cooking lesson was anything to judge by, you’re sure you’d manage fine without his input but you decide to humor the skeleton. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two from you.

Sans is sitting, slouched forward, on the island counter, hands in his jacket pockets, keeping an eye on the both of you. You find it more than a little unnerving having these two skeletons (Sans especially) hovering over you the way they are, but do your best to hold it in. You decide putting up with this is the least you can do with the current situation. And besides, though you may know them, they certainly don’t know you. Sans probably just wants to make sure you won’t try anything on his brother; it’s no secret to you how much he adores the younger skeleton, after all.

Everyone else quickly decides to go back to the living room, realizing how crowded the kitchen is with the entire group present.

“Food shouldn’t take more than an hour,” you shoot over your shoulder at the retreating figures as you stand at the sink, filling the saucepan with water, “but feel free to do whatever in the meantime. Wander the house, watch TV, play some video games. There’re drinks in the fridge and some fruit in the crisper if you need something to tide you over ‘til it’s ready.” You move the saucepan to a back burner, setting the heat to medium-high and topping the pot with its lid before you go to pull a chef knife from the knife block. You place a cutting board on the counter before you and settle the chicken breasts to be sliced in a plate next to it. You begin working on the garlic cloves and onion.

With your back turned to Sans you don’t see the way he tenses as you grip the knife, the way his eyes narrow and his grin tightens as you chop at the vegetables before moving on to slicing the meat, as if he’s anticipating you suddenly turning the blade on him--or worse, his brother. You’re blissfully unaware, focused entirely on preparing the meal.

In the back of his mind, Sans knows he’s over-reacting; he shouldn’t tense and think of the worst case scenario every time someone picks up a wouldbe weapon but he doesn’t know you, he retorts to that inner voice, doesn’t trust you. Not yet. He can’t afford to drop his guard, he continues to reason with himself, especially when his brother is within easy striking distance.

The stocky skeleton watches as you slide the chopped vegetables into the now oiled and heated skillet, lightly sauteing them before replacing them with the sliced meat, deftly adding various herbs and spices as you went. All the while Papyrus hovers over your shoulder, always eager to learn something new, and the tension in Sans’s bones ease ever so slightly at the sight of his brother so thoroughly enjoying himself.

Sans’s mind wanders as he watches the two of you--it wanders to everything from what was just discussed all the way back to the machine malfunctioning in the basement back home that had undoubtedly lead to this whole fiasco; to the panic, confusion, and unbridled _dread_ he had felt when that strange wave of magic had rippled through the air. The fact that the magic had felt oddly familiar despite Sans not being able to place why, or whom it originated from, was incredibly unnerving.

Try as he might, the skeleton simply couldn’t place the feeling--couldn’t pinpoint why he’s so sure he knows _exactly_ who the magic belongs to despite not having a single idea as to who that someone is.

A very recent memory flutters to the forefront of his mind.

_“Beware of the man who speaks in hands.”_

He doesn’t know why, but the second he had read that one line of text he had felt an uncomfortable pitch, an inexplicable unease, within his very soul.

Were these things all somehow related? A man--a _monster_ \--who spoke in hands, a frustratingly familiar feeling magic, and someone he should know but can’t seem to recall no matter how hard he tries to focus.

What is the connection? 

Why can’t he remember?

What is he missing and why does it feel as if there is a hole in his memory?

It’s almost as if it’s right on the tip of his metaphorical tongue, just begging to be released, and yet, it’s as if something is telling him that there is nothing to let loose--that that something, whatever it is, never even existed in the first place.

Sans is at a complete loss to any sort of explanation or hypotheses and it vexes him to no end. For the first time in years Sans feels the crushing weight of uncertainty and helplessness settle upon his back. He hasn’t felt like this since his time in the Underground, he absently realizes, back when he had started to notice the odd inconsistencies and contradictions in Frisk’s behavior. 

The short, stocky skeleton grimaces at the heavy thoughts--at the long buried nightmares fighting to resurface--and lowers his gaze to his hands, phalanges laced between each other, thumbs twiddling together with anxiety. He lets his thoughts stew, only vaguely registering your voice as you answer a question Papyrus poses about the difference in pasta sauces and noodles.

That’s right. There’s you, he thinks, watching as you practically dance around the kitchen, ensuring the food is properly attended to and prepared, all the while expertly schooling Papyrus in your process. Ridges form along Sans’s brow, just above the empty pits of his eye sockets, mimicking the way a human’s eyebrows furrow. He’s pretty sure you are an unwitting participant in this madness, obviously in over your head and struggling so desperately to keep it together. He has to admit that he appreciates how you have handled this whole mess, how you have treated him and everyone, his brother especially, with such kindness. How, despite your struggling to accept the situation, as incomprehensible as it is (because regardless of what he’s said and how he’s played off this whole deal, he, too, is having some trouble accepting the whole alternate reality/dimension hopping explanation), you persevere and trudge forward, making a point to treat your present company with respect and doing your damnedest to maintain _some_ semblance of normalcy.

Your earlier meltdown had been hilarious, he admits; borderline adorable in its sheer level of ridiculousness if he was entirely honest (not that he would ever confess such to anyone, though). However, such a reaction is only to be expected. It took a strong individual, an incredibly determined soul, to handle something this crazy and retain one’s sanity. Sans had to give you the credit you duly deserved. And yet… that was the other thing that had been nagging at him.

He watches as you dump the steaming pot of water and noodles into a colander situated in the right half of the sink, steam raising as water drains. He watches as you give the bowl a few jostles to further loosen any residual water clinging to the noodles before setting it aside on the counter and moving back to the sauce mix on the stove, all the while continuing to explain your actions to Papyrus.

“You don’t want to rinse the noodles,” you say as you stir the chicken and sauce mix in the skillet before flicking the burner off, “not unless you’re making something cold like a pasta salad. It helps to retain starch and helps adhere the sauce to the noodles.” Papyrus, meanwhile, is nodding, soaking up your advice like a sponge. 

Sans sighs before pointedly directing his gaze to you and you don’t notice him staring, your back still to the skeleton.

His brows slant downwards as he frowns, focusing on you; it’s not the first time he has attempted this. His gaze is searching, white pinpricks at first focused on the space between your shoulders and below your neck. Nothing. His gaze drops lower, his sockets narrowing. Nothing. He shifts his gaze once more. Again, nothing.

No matter where he searches, no matter how many times he tries this, he is always met with emptiness. He can’t find your soul; can't see it nor can he sense it.

It's almost as if you don't even have one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curiouser and curiouser...


	7. I've Done the Best I Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your poor shirt.

When lunch prep is finished, Papyrus quickly bolts from the kitchen and beelines it to the living room, intent on gathering everyone for, as he dubbed it: “New Friend Alfredo”.

He is just too precious. A beautiful cinnamon roll too good for this world, too pure. You don’t even try to stifle the giggle elicited by your silly thoughts.

You’re digging in the cabinets, pulling out enough plates and utensils for everyone, abundantly grateful you have an excess of kitchenware despite living alone. You pick up the stack of plates, bundle of forks settled on the topmost one, and turn, aiming for the dining room table to set it for everyone. You jolt, the ceramic plates clacking and scraping against each other with the sudden movement.

“Shit, Sans!” you hiss, rebalancing your small tower of ceramic disks.

The skeleton is standing barely a foot in front of you; you hadn’t even heard him abscond from his perch on the island counter!

He lets loose a few quick, deep chuckles.

“sorry, bud,” he replies, a glint to his eyes that has you squinting at him, suspicious. “didn’t mean to rattle your-”

“ _Don’t._ ” You’re still hissing and you tense, giving the skeleton a warning narrow of your eyes. “Don’t. you. even. dare.” The corners of his grin twitch and you swear you see his eye-lights flicker.

“-bones.” He finishes with the shittiest, smuggest grin you have ever seen.

You’re full on glaring at him now.

“Whelp.” you say, popping the ‘p’ and maneuvering passed him, curling around his side as you pass. You’re facing him as you make your way to the dining table backwards and continue, “Someone so full of sass and awful puns obviously has no room for lunch. No food for you.” You raise your shoulders in a shrug, head tilting ever so slightly to the side as you frown and perk your brows, before quickly turning to face forward. You hear a few quiet chuckles behind you at the empty threat and have to bite hard at your cheek to keep yourself from grinning like an idiot.

As you approach the dining table you notice everyone already seated. Frisk sits at one head of the table, their back to you; Undyne is seated to their left, Alpys to hers; Papyrus sits at Frisk’s right, the chair next to him empty along with the remaining seat at the opposite head of the table. Sans lazily eases himself into the seat next to his brother. You would expect no less.

You set the plates down on the space between Frisk and Papyrus and instruct the two to ensure everyone gets one. As they eagerly do as told you pad back to the kitchen to gather the bowl of noodles followed by the still steaming chicken and sauce mix. You squeeze between the skeleton brothers with a polite “excuse me, sorry, let me just squeeze in here for a sec” and place the hot bowl of white sauce on the table, perched on a pot holder. With a soft “sorry” you pull away from between the two and make your way to the last available seat.

“Alright!” you say with a soft clap. “Lunch’s on! Help yourselves!”

And with that, everyone dives into the food with fervor.

*****

You’re in the kitchen doing the dishes with Papyrus (he’s drying as you rinse) when you feel a tug on the bottom hem of your shirt from behind. You jerk ever so slightly at the unexpected contact and, lifting your arm to peek at your side, you see Frisk, still clutching at the fabric.

“Ah… what’s up, kid?” you ask them, raising a brow in question. You set the plate you had been sudsing up back into the sink gently and turn a little to better direct your attention to the child. Papyrus gives you a confused and worried glance but you shoot him what you can only hope is a reassuring smile. “Did you need something?” you gently coax. They look skittish, nervous and ready to bolt, and you can’t help but wonder why. You look to Papyrus, your eyes questioning. He can only shrug in response--he doesn’t know what Frisk wants anymore than you.

The kid puckers and creases their lips, clearly struggling with what they want to say and how to deliver whatever it is they’re struggling to voice.

“D’you need the bathroom?” you try, asking the first thing that comes to mind. “It’s down the hall, first door on the-”

Frisk fervently shakes their head, their hair flying left and right with the energetic movement. They’re frowning, eyebrows creased, and you think you see tears collecting at the corner of their eyes.

“Hey, hey!” You quickly wipe your hands across the front of your shirt at stomach level, leaving behind ugly wet stains and suds in their wake, before turning to fully face Frisk, squatting to be at a more even height. “Hey, kid, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” You lightly grasp at their upper arm with one hand and hesitantly reach below their chin to raise their now downcast head. You suck in a sharp breath through your nose as you see tears falling freely. Papyrus is squirming at your side, incredibly concerned but unsure what to do or say himself. “Frisk,” you say, rubbing at their shoulder in what you hope to be a soothing manner with your thumb, “what’s wrong? Do you feel sick?”

They shake their head again and before you can pose another inquiry, they’re turning, the hand you had placed on their shoulder grasped tightly in their small hands. They’re tugging at it, trying to pull you in the direction of the hallway, opposite of where everyone else is seated in the living room.

You shoot Papyrus an apologetic look and with your free hand, hold your index finger to him. “Sorry, one sec,” you try to convey with the gesture. You assume Papyrus understands since he nods, though he still has a worried look upon his features.

You allow Frisk to pull you down the hallway and into a room at the very end of the hallway, the last door on the left. It’s the room you use as your main workspace, reserved specifically for painting, you absently register.

Once Frisk drags you fully into the room, they’re quick to release your hand and turn, closing the door behind you with an audible click. They take a few moments to turn around and face you and you have to wonder what’s going through their head--if they’re okay, if you didn’t do something to upset them. You’re about to voice your concerns when they finally turn around, beating you to the punch.

“You… know about it, don’t you?” Frisk’s voice is soft, quiet and so full of apprehension. Their head is downcast once more. They’re nervously fiddling with their thumbs, feet fidgeting.

Your brows crease. You’re… not sure what Frisk is talking about.

“I uhm… I’m sorry, Frisk, but I don’t understand. What is this ‘it’ I know about?” You suppose there’s a lot you might know in relation to Frisk and the world they come from but without a specified topic it’s like grasping at straws.

You’re about to take a step towards the poor kid but they suddenly lift their head, wiping at their tears with the back of a hand.

“The Resets,” they say, and you think you hear them choke back a sob. “The Resets and Saves and Loads and all the bad things I’ve done…” Frisk now has both hands to their face as they frantically try to stop the tears from flowing and your heart breaks as you hear their voice crack, as they fight back sobs and wind up letting loose a few pained, emotionally charged hiccups.

You’re running forward without thinking as they sink to their knees and you catch them before they can hit the ground, falling to your own knees with the movement. Frisk wraps their arms around your shoulders and buries their head into your chest as they cry into the fabric of your shirt; you feel a warm wetness as a mixture of tears and mucus soak through to your skin and you try not to shudder.

Oh no… Oh no, no, no… You’re no good at handling children--especially when it comes to consoling a worked up child. Unsure of what to do, you simply sit there, allowing Frisk to cry into you as you awkwardly rub at their back.

What are you supposed to say? What are you supposed to _do_?

“It’s okay, Frisk.”

Is it, though?

“It’s not your fault.”

Can you really say that?

“It’ll be alright, everything’ll work out.”

Things are so very, very far from alright and you’re barely holding it together yourself but you know Frisk needs to hear this and you have to wonder how long Frisk has been wanting, _needing_ , to talk to someone about this--how hard it must have been for them to keep something like this all to themself. If you had been in their position at that age (they look to be... what, eight? Maybe 10 at the oldest?), you don’t think you would have been able to handle it. So, despite being unable to trust your own words and being so incredibly unsure of what the future holds and how any of this will work out, you continue to whisper lies to the child in hopes that your words will comfort them.

You’re not sure how much time passes with the two of you sitting on the floor like that, not even a foot from the door, before Frisk finally manages to calm themself down. They peel themself from you almost reluctantly, at first avoiding eye contact as they scoot backwards and sit before you on their butt, their legs crisscrossing. A stray sniffle here and there still manages to worm its way from the kid and they’re rubbing at their eyes, the sleeves of their oversized sweater wet with tears. You lean forward just enough so you can pat their knee and Frisk looks up at you, their eyes red and puffy, a bit of snot dripping from a nostril. You give them the softest, warmest smile you can manage.

“Hey. You did what you had to and you learned from your mistakes, right?” They frown but give a slow, hesitant nod, pulling in a hard, wet sounding intake of air through their nose. “You helped free everyone from the Underground, right?” They nod again, this time more sure of themself as they wipe at their eyes. “ _You_ ,” and you stress the word as you briefly tighten your grip on their knee for emphasis, “never killed anyone of your own volition, right?” They vehemently nod their head, their hair and entire upper-body jostling with the motion. “Good.” you say, giving Frisk’s knee another pat as they try to contain their sniffles. “Then you have absolutely nothing to beat yourself up over, kid. You made do with what you had and managed to come out on top, turning a really crappy situation into something incredible. S’not something a lot of people--a lot of _adults_ \--can say they’ve done. So cut yourself some slack, alright?”

You smile at the child, your eyes closing with a tilt of your head; you don’t see them nod so Frisk speaks up.

“...thanks,” they say, their voice quiet and subdued. Before you can say anything, though, they continue, voice a bit stronger and steady, “for cheering me up and… for not showing them the Save option. You didn’t have to skip passed all the Save stars but you did...” _For me_ , you think they might want to say, and they would be right, but Frisk stops there and just looks at you with this sheer gaze of admiration. Your stomach does this weird, fluttery flop and you can feel your cheeks heating up; whether from embarrassment or because you can’t remember ever feeling so flattered, you can’t say.

“Hey now, you’re giving me way too much credit, kid.” You vigorously ruffle Frisk’s hair as you let loose a few laughs, and despite their initial shout of protest, they’re soon joining in on the laughter, too.

As Frisk ducks under you hand, struggling to push it away, they ask, “Do… do you think I should tell them?”

You pause for a moment, biting at your lower lip in contemplation, before finally relenting on your torment of the poor kid’s hair.

“That’s… up to you, Frisk. If you think it would be for the best, then go for it. But you need to weigh the pros and cons of dropping that kind of bombshell--especially after all a’ _this_ ,” you say as you make a sweeping motion at the space around you, “and think, _really hard_ , on whether or not it’s something that _needs_ to be said. You might want to tell them--might feel guilty about _not_ telling them, but doing so could wind up doing more harm than good. It’s a tough call to make, bud, and one only _you_ can make.”

Frisk is quiet as they mull over your advice. You can tell this is something they have been struggling with for a long time, something that has literally been eating them up inside, if their breakdown was anything to go by, and you have to wonder how long they have been dealing with this. You’re glad you can be someone they can confide in, despite having only just met and being practical strangers to one another. No one should have to shoulder that kind of burden, that kind of responsibility--especially not a child.

“Alrighty!” you cry as you stand up, dusting off your pants with the motion. “Then that settles it! I won’t tell anyone anything that’ll make you uncomfortable or put you in an awkward position if you’ll promise me that you’ll keep Papyrus and Undyne from breaking anymore of my dishware.” You shoot Frisk a cheeky grin and extend a hand to help them up. “Deal?”

“Hmm…” Frisk cups their chin, feigning deep thought, as if your proposition is the toughest dilema they’ve had to face yet. “I _guess_ I can agree to your terms…” They reach for your outstretched hand, failing horribly at containing a goofy grin, and your palms slap together with a muted clap. “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( •̀ᄇ• ́)ﻭ✧
> 
> (Feel free to bother me on tumblr at redeyedryu.tumblr.com)


	8. Besties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus must be protected at all costs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back!
> 
> Let's pretend it _hasn't_ been two months since the last update.

When you and Frisk finally leave the room (though not before ensuring you both pass as presentable and not a disheveled, snotty mess), you’re mildly surprised to find Papyrus lingering a few feet down the hall, standing nervously against the bathroom door. You give Frisk a pat on the back, urging them to go on ahead just as you meet up with Papyrus, his hands dropping to his sides. You’re not sure, but you get the impression he had been wringing them.

“Human,” he calls to you as Frisk runs by, the kid grinning sheepishly at the skeleton as they pass. He takes up stride beside you as the two of you make your way to the living room. You look to him, surprised at the volume of his voice--or rather, the lack of it. Who knew the lanky skeleton had an inside voice? There’s a curious crease to the tops of his eye sockets, his toothy grin tilted down at the edges of his jaws in something of a frown. A sudden mental image of a sad, wet puppy flashes in your mind’s eye. You quickly dispel the thought as Papyrus speaks on. “Is Everything… Alright? With The Little Human? ...With You?” he asks, a perturbed expression tinting his bony face.

A fleeting warmth washes over you as you take in the skeleton beside you, little fuzzies of happiness flittering about in your chest. It’s easy to see how much Papyrus cares about Frisk, how big the skeleton’s figurative heart is. Heck, you haven’t even known each other for a _day_ and he’s already concerned for your wellbeing.

“Fantastic, Papyrus, thanks for asking.” you tell him with a soft, appreciative smile. You hope it’s enough to ease his worries. “Frisk just needed a little heart-to-heart. Sorry for worrying you, this whole thing’s just been a bit rough on ‘em, you know? They’re a tough kid, but sometimes a person needs someone to talk to--to just get a weight off their chest, you know?”

If you were to be completely honest you’re anything _but_ “fantastic”. You’re not sure if you can even say you’re _okay_ , but you need to stay strong. For yourself, for Frisk, for these poor people who have suddenly been thrust into your life, stranded in a world so like their own and yet so very, very different--to learn that their entire lives are nothing but a game here.

“And hey,” you trudge on as you lean over and give the skeleton a light bump, your shoulder grazing his arm, “If _you_ ever need someone to talk to about all’a… _this_ \--or anything, really, you can always come to me, too.” You pull your shoulders high in a shrug, eyes shutting with the nonchalant motion. “I mean. If you want. S’what friends are for, right?”

An unreadable expression crosses Papyrus’s face, his sockets narrowing in thought as he pauses mid-step. The abrupt action causes you to stop as well, to look at him, curious if not a little concerned. Had you said something wrong? Crossed some kind of line? Papyrus appears to be giving something a lot of thought, you note, looking taken aback for a brief moment, but before you can address the fleeting expression, before you can attempt to rescind your possibly presumptuous words, he’s suddenly all smiles and bending down to scoop you up into a crushing hug, “NYEH HEH HEH”’s peeling from his mouth as he continues into the dining room, you still clutched in his arms, whatever possibly troubling thought apparently gone.

“THAT IS GOOD TO HEAR, NEW HUMAN FRIEND!” he cries, his tone once more returning to its typical boisterous volume. “I AM GLAD THAT MY TWO BEST HUMAN FRIENDS ARE GETTING ALONG SO WELL! AS BEFITTING OF THE FRIENDS OF SOMEONE  AS COOL AND GREAT AS I!” You can’t help but to laugh as you awkwardly pat at his chest, your arms sandwiched between your bodies, the fabric of his t-shirt bunching oddly beneath you. You absently register that you can feel his ribs through the thin cotton fabric.

“Y-yeah,” you choke out between more laughter, “think you could perhaps set your ‘new human friend’ down, though? As much as I like hugs this is uh… this is a bit on the bone crushing side, bud.”

Papyrus stops abruptly before looking down at you, a searching look to his narrowed, judging eye sockets.

“I AM GOING TO TAKE THAT AS A LITERAL STATEMENT,” he starts with something of a huff, “BECAUSE I KNOW YOU ARE NOT ONE TO SINK TO SANS’S LEVEL OF SILLY PUNNERY.” You have to bite down on your lip to keep yourself from letting loose another chuckle at that. Sans clearly isn't the only silly skeleton around.

“Totally, absolutely a one-hundred percent literal statement, Papyrus.” you reply, words slightly strained and breathless, nodding your assent and patting awkwardly at his chest once more.

He takes a moment to study your face, dark eye sockets squinted, before his expression finally relaxes. Seemingly mollified, he sets you down, throwing in a couple light pats to the top of your head as if to say “there, all is good now”.

You inhale a quick but deep, greedy breath, exhaling as you straighten your clothes, adjusting the collar of your jacket and hood before stowing your hands in its pockets. “Thanks, Paps,” you say with a light titter as the two of you cross into the living room.

“JEEZE!” Undyne cries out and you jolt, startled by the sudden and abrupt exclamation, your eyes honing in on the blue monster. “ _There_ you two are!” she continues, unrelenting in her volume, “Took you long enough to fetch the human, Papyrus!”

You take a brief moment to survey the room as she addresses Papyrus. Undyne and Alphys have resumed their initial seating position on the couch, Undyne leaning into the armrest nearest you and Papyrus, an arm draped over Alphys’s shoulders, pulling the flustered, yellow reptile close. Frisk is now seated on the love-seat next to Sans, a throw pillow wrapped in their arms, their head resting on the cushion as they give you a bright, toothy grin. You can’t help but to grin back.

You force a breath through your nose in a subdued laugh when you notice Sans once more appears to be working on becoming one with the couch cushions, his hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders slouched, head tilted slightly back and body relaxed as his bony legs hang over the edge of the seat, his eye sockets closed. You note that his chest slowly rises and falls to the rhythm of breaths he’s apparently taking and you’re suddenly musing that skeleton monsters make absolutely no sense. They are a complete and total contradiction to anything and everything you have ever learned about the skeletal structure of flesh and blood creatures.

As if sensing your scrutinizing gaze, Sans pops a lazy socket open, white pinprick of light locking on to your own colored irises. You almost look away out of reflex, direct eye contact having always been a little unsettling, but you manage to hold fast. You don’t know why, but you get the feeling that he’s studying you back.

You quirk a brow at him, challenging him to say something. Anything. _Go ahead,_ your expression says, _tell a cruddy joke_ , _see what’ll happen._

He just laughs at your smug grin, a soft “heh”, before he shrugs and somehow manages to sink _even further_ into the couch cushions, eye socket slipping closed once more. _What a lazy bones,_ you think with a shake of your head.

You redirect your attention back to Papyrus as he responds to Undyne, a scoff to his voice, his arms crossed.

“WE WERE NOT BOONDOGGLING, IF THAT IS WHAT YOU ARE IMPLYING, UNDYNE.” He shifts and without warning you’re suddenly teetering to the side, hands flying from the pockets of your jacket and arms flailing as you struggle to maintain your balance. Papyrus has wrapped an arm around your neck, pulling you in close, and you’re silently hoping you’re not about to be on the receiving end of another noogie. You’re still nursing a tender knot from your earlier run-in with the island cabinet, after all. “THE GREAT PAPYRUS DOES NOT WASTE TIME! I SIMPLY TOOK THE OPPORTUNITY TO FURTHER INCREASE THE FRIENDSHIP LEVEL BETWEEN THE NEW HUMAN AND MYSELF!”

Undyne gives Papyrus a befuddled look, her eye squinted and lips parted, a brow quirked. “...uh. Yeah. Okay, that’s… cool?” She shakes her head and her lips part further in a huge, toothy grin. “Bet you’ll be besties in NO TIME!” she crows.

You’re suddenly released from Papyrus’s hold, stumbling slightly as you right yourself for what feels like the millionth time today. The lanky skeleton strikes his signature pose, the hand that had been trapping you moments earlier perched along the crest of his pelvis as his opposite hand rests on his chest. A smug, self-assured expression has overtaken his skeletal facial features.

“OF COURSE.” he begins, “THAT IS ONLY TO BE EXPECTED WHEN ONE WISHES TO BEFRIEND THE GREAT PAPYRUS!”

 _Good lord,_ you think, suddenly feeling very, _very_ tired. _These monsters are going to be the death of me, aren’t they?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (｡´-д-)
> 
> Deep breaths, Reader. Deep breaths.  
> Things'll (probably) work out, don't worry.
> 
>  
> 
> I swear we'll eventually leave Reader's house. Some day. Maybe.  
> This isn't exactly where I had wanted to end this chapter--I had wanted it to be a bit longer than this, but I figured it's been a while since I last updated so I decided to toss ya'll a bone for being so patient. Hopefully the next update won't take me as long and will have more substance to it (and maybe we will finally, _finally,_ change locations).


	9. House Arrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really, Sans? _Really?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday, so here's a present for all'a you~

"Alright, guys, so here's the the thing..."

You bring a hand to your face, your palm covering your eyes, thumb extended towards your hairline. Eyelids closed, you drag your hand over your face, inhaling a deep breath with the motion. Hold that breath for a beat, then exhale, hand resting over your mouth before pulling it down your chin; along the bottom of your jaw; down your neck, anxiously rubbing along its side with the pads of your fingers.

God you are so tired right now, a nap would be _heavenly_. However, as much as you would love to give in to that want right now, that _need_ , there are a few things that still need to be said--ground rules that need to be established--before you can even _think_ about relaxing.

Take another deep breath, hold it, then exhale in a sigh, dropping your hand as you let yourself fall into the cushions of the couch at your back, head tilting up. Slide your hands into the pockets of your jacket as you pointedly look towards the ceiling, avoiding meeting anyone's gaze.

You've reclaimed your seat on the couch with Undyne and Alphys, Papyrus seated next to you instead of Frisk. You can make out the side of his skull in your peripheral. Direct your eyes to the left, opposite the side he's sitting. He no longer lingers in the corner of your vision; no chance of him meeting your gaze as you say what needs to be said.

"I don't know if I've already mentioned this or not, but here, in this reality, there's no such thing as monsters. No such thing as magic. Just sleight of hand tricks and optical illusions. There're superstitions; fairy tales and ghost stories and all that jazz, but as far as the world’s concerned? Monsters and magic are nothing more than fiction and fantasy. They don't exist.”

You pause a moment to let that sink in, giving the ceiling a sardonic look. Eyes flicker to the right and you catch a glimpse of the white of Papyrus’s skull; he’s looking at you. You catch the slightest view of the expression upon his face before you quickly avert your eyes to the left once more; he looked unsettled.

"I mean, you could also argue that maybe they did--or do," you backpedal, feeling guilty by implying that the monsters are utterly alone in this world. "For all I know, there could be some kind of equivalent to Mount Ebott here--the world's certainly big enough--but that's a whole 'nother can of worms I honestly don't have the energy to invest in thinking about right now, let alone opening."

Close your eyes and sigh. You've been doing that a lot lately, haven't you? Comes with the territory, you suppose. Still, it’s better that than pulling your hair out. ...or repeating that meltdown from earlier.

You pull your hand from your pocket to grab the throw pillow sandwiched between you and the arm of the couch, bring it to your chest in a tight, one armed hug, and continue.

"Anyway, what I'm trying to say is... is that, well... y'all can't... go outside? Or into town. ...definitely, absolutely, no going into town." You mutter the last bit under your breath, quick and quiet, more to yourself than to the others. Needless to say, they catch that bit, too.

Undyne growls and you hear the sound of fabric shifting, feel weight being displaced on the couch. You suspect she’s probably launched herself from her seat.

“What’re you trying you say, punk?” she practically roars, more than ready to shoot you down, you're sure. “You just want us to sit around and twiddle our thumbs?! I don’t think so!!”

A shudder rolls over you, shoulders pulling in as tension settles into your muscles at the raising volume of her voice, and you can't help but to nervously nip at your lip. You refuse to open your eyes, to look at her undoubtedly enraged face.

“No, that’s not it,” you desperately want to reply--want to tell them that you’re just trying to keep them safe--but your mouth is suddenly dry, your throat tight, lips refusing to part, jaw locking as teeth clench. Can’t get the words to come out; can't blame her for being upset. The hand still in your pocket clenches, nails biting into the flesh of your palm as the arm clutching the pillow over your chest tightens. If Frisk's admissions from earlier are anything to go by, the monsters have probably only recently been freed from Mount Ebott. You’re not sure how long they have been enjoying their freedom but you are certain it hasn’t been long enough--that the wounds of imprisonment still run fresh and deep. Your house is not the Underground, not a prison, but what you're saying sounds an awful lot like asking them to give up that hard-won freedom.

Again you’re left feeling the heavy weight of guilt rest upon your shoulders; left feeling like scum. But what are you supposed to do? You’re only one person; one tiny, insignificant college student. A young adult who holds no real power or sway over the world in which you live. How else are you supposed to protect them? How else _can_ you?

You can only just make out Alphys whispering placating somethings to Undyne, managing to calm the woman in a way that you’re sure only Alphys can, before the former captain can rile herself up.

Undyne eventually lets loose a begrudging growl, her anger relenting. The couch shifts once more as the intimidating woman plops herself back into her seat with a huff. You send a silent thanks the reptilian monster's way and press on, the tension in your body easing just a bit. This needs to be said. No sugar-coating things, no beating around the bush. It's for their own good, you tell yourself.

Another slow inhale. Another slow exhale.

You can do this. You've got this.

Everything'll work out.

"I know it sucks,” you venture to start, “I really do, but people'll freak if they see you guys. ...well, I mean Frisk should be fine but uhm... It's just..." Open your eyes and look to the ceiling, the hand that had been lingering in your pocket now joining in clutching the pillow against your chest. Your brows furrow, lips pursed. "I don't know how humans are in your world, how society functions over there, but here, people have enough trouble accepting each other over things that should be inconsequential: skin color, religious beliefs--heck, even just the gender of who you date or what you identify as could land you dead in the street.”

You frown, a glare directed at the empty expanse of the ceiling.

“We're not... humans aren't very receptive to change--to things they don't understand."

You let loose yet another heavy sigh, finally willing yourself to pull your eyes from the ceiling, to tilt your head forward and address your company. Your gaze first meets with Frisk's, the child looking rather unsettled (distressed, maybe?), before moving on to Sans. Much like you he's pulled himself forward, no longer sinking into the upholstery. When those pinpricks of light in his sockets fixate on you, you're unable to hold his gaze and quickly look away. You can't help but feel that his stare is heavy--that there’s a weight behind it you’re not quite sure how to interpret. It’s kind of unnerving, you can’t help but think.

A quick glance to the right and you see Papyrus looking thoughtful; pensive. Beside him you note that Undyne is leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, head cradled in a hand, gaze directed to the ground. You’re not sure, but from what you can see of her it kind of looks like she’s glaring (or maybe more along the lines of scowling?) at the ground. Alphys is saying something to her in a low voice, shifted on the couch so her back now faces you, all the while rubbing soothing circles along her lover’s back.

You avert your eyes to your lap, feeling like dirt asking them to seclude themselves like this.

"I'm sorry I have to ask you guys to do something like this, I really am, but it's the only way I can guarantee your safety. Just… j-just until I can think of some kind of cover." You say as you anxiously thumb a corner of the pillow.

It’s quiet for a few minutes, the air heavy and tense as everyone ponders the situation in their own way. You let yourself sink into the cushions of the couch once more, gaze returning to the ceiling.

 _Too bad it’s December_ , you grouse to yourself before musing aloud, “If only it were October.”

“OCTOBER?” Papyrus is quick to query, his booming voice catching you off guard, causing you to involuntarily twitch. How long until his volume stops startling you? You suppose you still have some acclimating to do…

You turn to look at the skeleton.

“WOULD OCTOBER MAKE THINGS BETTER THAN… WHATEVER MONTH IT IS NOW?” he continues, casting a glance towards the large window behind Sans and Frisk, no doubt surveying the climate outside. There isn’t much to see beyond the inches upon inches of snow and ice covered everything.

You chuckle, the sound a bitter, humorless one.

“It’s December,” you supply, “and yeah. It’d make things a lot easier--a ton, really.” There’s a snort to your left and you’re suddenly thinking _Oh no…_ with a groan, realizing what you had just unwittingly set up. ...he wouldn’t, would he?

“don’t you mean a skele- _ton_?”

“Ugh _…_ ” You groan even louder, slapping a hand over your face.

Of course. Of. Fucking. Course he would. Trust Sans to take advantage of any and all opportunities for incidental punnery. You shift your head to look at him with a deadpan expression.

“REALLY, SANS?” Papyrus chastises, beating you to the punch. “I DON’T THINK NOW IS THE TIME.”

“but bro,” Sans says as he pulls his hand from a pocket, eyes half lidded, grin as smug as ever. You can see he’s grasping something and you squint at whatever it is he’s holding, suspicious. It looks like a little glass bottle? Green cap...

_Oh my god, no way. When did he even-?_

“what else am i supposed to do with all this thyme on my hands?”

“.........SANS!!!” Papyrus wails as Frisk giggles beside the comedian and you can’t help but to snort. You can hear Undyne scoff off to the side, Alphys trying to subdue her own laughter. When had Sans even managed to pilfer your spice rack for that? How long had he even been carrying that bottle around, just _waiting_ for the perfect opportunity to put it to use? What a complete and utter _dork_.

“heh. c’mon, bro, you’re smilin’.” Sans says with a wink, his grin stretching to shit-eating levels. There’s the distinct _clack_ of bone hitting bone as Papyrus face-palms himself.

“YES, AND I HATE IT.” he bemoans, hand dropping to his lap. Sans chuckles softly, his own hand and borrowed bottle of herbs returning to his pocket before Papyrus locks eye sockets with him, a mischievous glint to his gaze.

“...THISTLE BE THE LAST TIME I FALL FOR YOUR RIDICULOUS WORDPLAY, BROTHER!” he says with a satisfied grin, arms crossing over his chest. He’s trying hard not to laugh at his own joke.

Silence; Sans’s chuckles dying down for a brief moment before quickly picking back up with a sputtering laugh that has been elevated to an entirely new level of mirth.

“Ohmy _god_ ,” you groan, falling back into the couch as Sans full on guffaws. He’s bent forward, clutching at his sides. You turn to Papyrus, your head shaking in disbelief, and say to him, “I feel so betrayed right now. How could you?”

“NYEH HEH HEH!” Papyrus laughs, “THIS TIME IT’S _YOU_ WHO HAVE BEEN THOROUGHLY JAPED. BY ME, THE GREAT PAPYRUS!”

“h-heh. good one, bro.” Sans manages to choke out between laughs.

“I hate you both; get out of my house.”

Sans manages to calm himself down enough to look at you with a wide smile. “aw, c’mon, kid,” he starts, “no need to get all _salty_ on us. paps mint no harm.”

“ _Hnnnnngh…_!!” You whine as you bend forward, slamming the throw pillow into your face. Everyone’s laughing, albeit some more restrained or begrudgingly than others, and you promptly fall to your side, resting against the arm of the couch, your back to Papyrus. “I hate you so much right now,” you grumble into the pillow, though your words only come out as indiscernible mumbles. “So fucking much.”

Sans is still laughing despite everyone else having managed to contain themselves when Papyrus clears his throat ...however that works… He gently taps your shoulder. You pull the pillow from your face and twist just enough that you can side-eye the skeleton.

“I APOLOGIZE, HUMAN,” Papyrus says, skeletal brows furrowed. Oh no. There’s that sad, wet puppy look again. “ARE YOU MAD?”

You pout behind the pillow, lips pursed and brows creased, before taking in a deep breath and blowing it out your nose. “...no. I’m not mad,” you reluctantly admit, pulling the pillow from your face and adjusting yourself back into an upright seated position. “It’s fine, Papyrus. I mean, I guess it _was_ kind of... humerus.”

He squints his eye sockets at you and frowns. There’s another snort--from Sans, no doubt--before Papyrus’s grin returns. “...I SUPPOSE THAT’S ONLY FAIR. BUT ENOUGH BOONDOGGLING! YOU WERE SAYING SOMETHING ABOUT OCTOBER BEING BETTER THAN DECEMBER?”

“Ah. Yeah,” pause to awkwardly scratch at the back of your head, “if only because it’d be easy enough to pass you guys off as being in costume or something during that month."

“C-c-costume?” Alphys perks up. “Wh-what does Oct-t-tober have to do w-with costumes?”

You look at her, confused. She’s kidding, right?

“...you’re kidding, right? You know, Halloween?” The oblivious stare she’s giving you tells you she’s not. Unrelenting, you try again. “All Hallows’ Eve? People dress up at the end of the month in costumes varying from cute to creepy, from risqué to rather questionable? Kids go ‘round house to house, trick-or-treating for free candy?” You sweep your gaze across each and every monster before settling on Frisk--they all appear none the wiser. “Is that not a thing in your world?” Frisk shakes their head, looking a mixture of confused and curious. Huh. How weird.

“Huh… There was that Christmas tree in Snowdin, so I figured... Wait. Wait, hold on, _is_ Christmas a thing on your side?” You look from Frisk to the skeleton brothers, to Alphys and Undyne, completely befuddled.

Alphys is the one to reply with a shaky, “Y-y-yes, we have that holiday. Oh! A-actually, last year Undyne got me this adorable Mew Mew: Kissy Cutie figurine. It was actually a super rare variant that was released to commemorate the 10 year anniversary of th-”

“Whoa, okay, sorry, hold up, Alphys.” you cut in, hoping to stop the monster before she can go off on a tangent like you know she’s more than capable of doing--especially when it comes to her favorite anime. “Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt, but we’re getting off topic again.” She blushes a furious red, the yellow of her scales making it appear orange, before burying her face in her claws.

“O-o-o-oh! Y-y-you’re r-right.” she squeaks from behind her hands, “H-how emb-b-barrassing... I-I’m s-s-so s-sorry!”

You can’t help but feel bad, seeing Alphys so flustered.

“No, no! You’re fine, you’re totally fine, Alphys.” you say quickly, hoping to reassure the poor girl. If Papyrus wasn’t sitting between you (and Undyne wasn’t giving you a barbed, warning glare) you’d wrap the scientist in a tight embrace. For now, though, your words will have to suffice. “I brought it up, so it’s no big deal. You can tell me about it later? I’d really love to hear about your world’s anime.”

Hesitantly, Alphys lowers her claws, casting you a timid glance, her violent blush receding. “R-really?” she practically whispers.

“Really.” you say with an emphatic smile, eyes closing with the motion.

“So… what,” Undyne abruptly cuts in, crossing her arms over chest and leaning back into the couch. “Is this ‘Halloween’ the only time you humans dress up in costumes?”

“Well, no. Not really.” you reply with a shrug. “It’s just the most socially acceptable time of the year for people to do that kind of thing--where it wouldn’t really be weird or questioned to see a couple of skeletons walking around in broad daylight, or to see a walking blue fish-woman or a humanoid reptile, if you catch my drift. I mean, people’ll still dress up for certain kinds of parties or for work or what not, but they’d definitely turn heads during any other time of the year.

“The only other time people probably wouldn’t make _as_ big of a deal of people dressing up would probably be around conven…tions……… oh my god.” You’re suddenly sitting up straight, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. It’s as if a light bulb has just gone off in your head.

“Uh?” Undyne frowns. “Convention?” she prompts.

“Oh my god,” you merely repeat before launching yourself from the couch, tossing the pillow behind you. Everyone watches, confused, as you quickly make your way to the coffee table, kneeling before where you had left your laptop. Undyne looks to Sans questioningly, whose only response is to shrug.

They watch as you snap your laptop screen up, as you slide your finger across the touchpad to wake it. Enter the log-in pin, load your desktop, open a browser window. There are several open tabs and you deftly open another, quickly typing in the address bar: _anime conventions in december_. Your default search engine brings up a list, numerous links to various upcoming conventions displayed on the page. You click the top most one and you’re brought to a website, the top of the page reading: **Convention Schedule**.

It’s a stretch--a really, really _big_ one--but maybe you can figure something out, maybe you can make this work after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !(•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑  
>  Now we're gettin' somewhere.


	10. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out your jacket isn't as warm as you thought it was.

You stare at the snow covered landscape before you, a leg idly swinging backwards and then forwards, the other bent at the knee and tucked just under the other. You’re sitting on your back porch, lazily swaying on the porch swing your parents had surprised you with last summer. It was a small token, a way for them to express how proud they were of you making it on the Dean’s List back then. They knew how you enjoyed spending time outside, just basking in the quiet surroundings of nature, your neighbors too old or too far away and disinterested in involving themselves with others to provoke any real kind of disruption to the surrounding calm. You liked sitting out here to think, to let your nerves unwind after a stressful day and lord knows today you needed a quiet moment more than any other that had come before.

Thankfully, your unexpected (and admittedly energy draining) company had respected your need to step out and take a breather; or, as you had put it, to formulate how to work this whole “convention” business so no one realizes there are real monsters among them.

Papyrus and Alphys (and Undyne, you were sure—you’d caught that pout of hers) had seemed rather crestfallen when you had admitted that no, you weren’t _actually_ going to be attending any sort of convention. It was just a backstory—an excuse, if you will, to explain the monsters’ rather eccentric appearance should you happen to stumble into a situation that called for any kind of interpersonal interaction. You had stressed that it wouldn’t take long for things to devolve into chaos if anyone found out and, considering how people clung to their close-minded bigotry, their tendency to lean towards violence and guns here, you had no doubts things would get real dusty real fast.

So saying, you had left them with the TV remote, briefly explained how to flip between the apps on your TV, how to work the dish and its channels, instructed them on where your anime was stashed and how to start up your game consoles if they so wished to mess with that business and then politely excused yourself, tucking your laptop under your arm as you went. It was the one thing you weren’t comfortable with people playing around with, after all. You didn’t even let _Naomi_ on the thing (not without anxiously hovering over her shoulder, anyway) if you could help it, and you’d known her for _years_.

You pull in a long, deep breath before releasing it in a heavy sigh, eyes closing as you bask in the near silence surrounding you. You let your mind slow and then empty, relishing in the break from your tumultuous predicament.

You sit like that for a good handful of minutes, eyes closed and head resting against the back of the swing, and absently register a chill settling in. Probably should have grabbed a thicker coat or a blanket before coming out here. Maybe a pair of gloves. A scarf... _Oh well, too late now_ , you think, not like you’ll be out here for much longer anyway. You wrap your arms around your middle, one cupping an elbow, the other rubbing along your upper arm.

Another minute passes… then another. One more. Just as you’re thinking about picking yourself up and trudging back inside to face your new, broken reality, you hear the sound of the door sliding open, footsteps crunching in snow, the door closing, and then more snow crunching underfoot. The motion of the swing halts abruptly—just for a moment—as a weight settles beside you, the bench dipping ever so slightly before the motion picks back up. You don’t say anything, don’t crack an eye open or lift your head from its position, just remain silent—you and whoever came out to join you. You think it’s probably one of the monsters and not Frisk, considering you can’t feel any heat emanating from your companion.

Eventually, your companion breaks the silence as they clear their throat and then the voice begins with a weak, "hey, uh..." only to pause awkwardly.

 _Ah_ , you think with a slight twitch to a corner of your lip, _so it’s Sans._

With your attention not on him you don’t see the way he clasps his hands in his lap, don’t see how he clacks his thumb bones together, though you can make out the light tapping. "you uh... you okay there, bud?" he tries again.

 _That’s awful relative_ , you think, letting loose a puff of air through your nose. It’s quickly accompanied by a dry, humorless laugh. Inhale—slow but shallow—and release the breath in a sigh.

Silence. And then...

"Dunno, to be honest. Could be better," you admit with the lift of a shoulder in a half shrug, "but I guess things could also be worse." you reason, pulling your head up, eyes opening as you stare out into the distance directly in front of you. A hand drops to grip around the ankle of the foot you have tucked under your dangling leg. The movement of the swing continues as silence reigns again, your leg moving in sync with the motion. Forward, then backwards; forward, backwards—the cycle ever repeating.

"It's..." Pause to lick your lips, purse them together as your mind decides whether to stay pleasantly empty or pick up speed—it’s leaning towards the latter despite your preference."It's a lot to take in. All of this.” you confess. “I mean, it's something i'd expect to happen in a dream." You glance at Sans, giving him a sheepish smile as you shift, pulling the sleeves of your jacket down around your hands, fingers clasping the edge of the fabric as you fidget, absently registering the nipping cold encompassing you growing stronger. You _really_ should’ve worn a thicker jacket or something...

"I keep expecting to wake up," you concede, gaze drifting back to the trees surrounding you. "I keep waiting for this dream to fade, to wake up in a world where things make sense again."

Sans doesn't say anything while you talk, just listens. Waits. Observes.

You pick back up after a silent, heavy beat, taking in a deep inhale of air. "This is all so weird," you start, "overwhelming, really. And I honestly have no idea what I'm doing."

There's a slight shift in the swing as Sans moves, one hand slipping into the pocket of his signature blue jacket while the other raises to scratch at the side of his skull. The unsettling sound of bone scraping against bone causes a shiver to race down your spine. You bite at your bottom lip in a weak attempt at suppressing the subconscious reaction.

"...if it's any consolation, i think you're doing a pretty good job." There's that scraping sound again and then the shuffling of fabric. You turn to look at the skeleton; he's looking off to the side, head dipped ever so slightly. "guess we lucked out." he mutters under his breath and you have to strain to hear that last bit.

Your brows furrow and you nip at your bottom lip, thoughtful. Luck, coincidence... is that really all this is?

"...mm." you hum in response for lack of anything better to say, moving to face forward again.

A minute passes in silence—and _god_ , there’ve been way too many awkward silences between the two of you during this interaction—neither of you entirely sure what to say or do next. The gentle creak of the swing as it continues to sway fills the air. You breathe deep, inhaling the crisp winter air.

 _Alright_ , you think to yourself, eyebrows scrunching together as you set your mind to the task at hand—half eager to move on from this awkward interaction and half frustrated at having not done anything about all of… _this_ yet. _I think we've done enough sitting around,_ you tell yourself. _Time to get the ball rolling already!_

Lips pressed in a thin line, mind set and determined, you practically bound from the swing. Sans startles at the unexpected movement, hands jumping from his pockets to either side of himself for stability. You hear him mutter something under his breath but brush it off; it's probably just some inconsequential thing.

He slowly slides off the swing after you and nearly startles, a subtle, surprised “ _hrk_ ”-like sound escaping from between his teeth when he sees you standing right in front of him, grinning like an idiot. His not-brows furrow as he leans back, the bottom ridges of his eye sockets raising with his skepticism.

"uh..."

"SO!" you cry, interrupting whatever he might have planned on saying, hands clapping in front of you and causing the short skeleton to jump at the abrupt sound. He takes a step back as you pose the question: "What say you on us trying this ruse of ours out? Do a little test run?"

Sans’s eye sockets narrow in confusion as he settles into a more comfortable, slouched posture.

"ruse?"

You roll your eyes and shift your weight left and then right. Gods it really is cold out here. If not a jacket, you really should have grabbed a blanket. Why hadn't you grabbed a blanket?

"Oh come _on_ , skelebro, we were literally _just_ talking about this." And no sooner do those words leave your mouth than you’re thinking: _Fuck it. Time to move this party back inside._ Because god _damn_ it’s cold out here and you’re _definitely_ freezing your ass off now. You spin on your heel, the snow making that weird but lovely squelchy-squishy noise as it compresses. "You know, the whole convention business?" you throw over your shoulder as you make your way towards the sliding glass door. Sans trails behind you as you tug the door open, stepping through the threshold when you motion him in ahead of you.

"...oh." is his ever so eloquent reply as you step in after him, kicking snow off your shoes just outside the door. "ok."

"Sweet!" you respond, smiling as you slide the door closed and set the lock, shutting the cold, winter air out where it belongs. You take a moment to shake a bit and rub your hands together, pulling them to your lips and breathing on them to alleviate the uncomfortable pins and needles sensation quickly settling in your extremities with the sudden shift in temperature. You make a quick mental note to self: remember to _always_ wear gloves when going outside. And another jacket. ...or five. Pack a blanket just to be safe.

"Alright!" you eventually pick up after warming your limbs to a comfortable, satisfactory level. "So I was thinking grocery run for a test run, since I promised Papyrus spaghetti for dinner n’ all that. Sound alright to you?" you ask, fingers twisting and tugging at your jacket sleeves.

It's interesting, Sans thinks, how easy it is to read you; you’re practically an open book. You're grinning and for all the world looking like an excited, over-stimulated puppy but there, right there, he's able to pick up on the obvious cues of your anxiety. The way your brows furrow, the way you worry your lip, the way your eyes shift from one spot to the next—sometimes outright avoiding eye contact entirely—and the way you tend to keep your hands busy, like right now.

"sure, kid.” he says with a shrug, eyes dipping closed and not-brows raising with the motion. “however you wanna play this."

He does have to wonder why you’re talking to _him_ about this though; why it sounds like you’re asking him for permission—for affirmation—rather than discussing this with everyone as a group. ...eh, whatever.

Once again you clap your hands, startling him to attention.

"Alright, cool." you say, calmly but with a hint of… _something_. He’s not quite sure _what_ , though. ...apprehension, maybe? Relatable, he thinks, watching as you wrap an arm around your torso, just under your chest, your face scrunched up as you puzzle over whatever it is that’s clearly taken up your mind space.

And suddenly, the thought that  _aren't you adorable?_ crosses the skeleton's mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿


	11. Adventures in Miscommunication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He most definitely did that on purpose, the ass.

Hmm... how do you want to go about this? Doing it this way, with Sans, is best, right? The fewer the better, you think—that way there’s a smaller chance of something going wrong. Not to mention Sans, with his laid back, easy-going, roll with the punches personality would be easier to work with than say… Papyrus or Undyne. Papyrus is a precious cinnamon roll and you’d do just about anything for him, and as much as you like Undyne, those two are loose cannons—unpredictable and nigh impossible to plan around. As much as it pains you to admit, you don’t think they’d be able to keep things at a manageable level of… normal? Calm? Something along those lines. Especially not for the first official trial run slash introduction to your world.

You wrap an arm around your torso, just under your chest as you hold the other to your face, alternating between cupping your chin and mouth thoughtfully to absently nibbling your thumb. You don't even realize you've started pacing.

Sans leans against the wall adjacent to the door to the back porch, watching you work the problem out. He lets loose a quiet laugh, amused. He wonders if you realize you're acting exactly as you had at the very beginning of all this—minus all the muttering and crazy talk.

"AH!" you eventually exclaim, hand shooting up to point at the ceiling at the same time you freeze in place. Sans looks to your extended arm, those little pinpricks of light following its movement as you shift to point at him. "You!" you cry, and before he has a chance to respond, "lose the shorts."

He sputters, jolting forward and somehow managing to trip and stumble with the movement, managing to _just_ keep himself from taking a tumble to the floor.

“i-ah…” There’s a curious blue tinge dusting across his cheeks as he stammers (and you’re suddenly thinking _holy shit_ is he _blushing_? How do I get him to do that _more often_? Can he turn any _other_ colors?). “uh, look, kid. i don’t-” interrupts himself with a cough, “-i don’t think we really know each other well enough for you to uh-” Oh gods. That is most _definitely_ a blush and _he’s totally flustered_ . But then you realize that despite how discombobulated he is (and that he’s quite clearly misinterpreted the intent behind your command) there’s no way he wouldn’t turn this into a joke. There’s a dull _slap_ as you smack your face with an open palm, a rasped “oh my god” as you dip your head and shake it left and right at _yet again_ giving him the perfect set up. So you shoot him down before the words even have the chance to leave his… bone lips? Does he even _have_ lips? Uh… teeth? Skull? Yeah, that sounds better—before the words even have a chance to leave his skull.

“If you’re planning on saying anything even _remotely_ close to ‘jumping bones’ so help me I will make sure no one will ever find a single particle of your dust.” You say it in a deadpan tone and try your best to outright ignore the heat blooming across your own cheeks as you practically spit out: “Sheesh. Get your skull out of the gutter, you dingus.” Admittedly, you probably should have worded that better… in a less embarrassing and easily misinterpreted manner (like… come on, yelling at people to practically _get naked_? Smooth, girl. _Real smooth_ —no _way_ he’d misinterpret that _at all_ ). But then again, it’s not like you knew Sans would interpret your words in _that_ kind of way, _jeeze_! Talk about mortifying escapades in miscommunication...

Turning abruptly, you shuffle over to a medium-sized dresser in the corner of the room, opposite from the side of the room Sans is standing in, effectively turning your back to him—and not a moment too soon; you’re sure your face is red by now, if the heat you’re feeling is anything to go by. You hastily open the top drawer and start digging through various clothes, shifting fabric this way and that. You miss the way Sans tenses, though, the pricks of light going out in his eyes, his smile tightening ever so slightly, phalanges clenching in a fist.

He’s aware of the fact that you had meant the dust comment as a joke—a kind of knee jerk reaction fueled by embarrassment no doubt—but his recent dealings with less than welcoming humans in his home world who had tossed out idle threats running along a similar vein, tied with the fact that he still couldn’t seem to get a read on your soul—can’t quite assess you as easily or quickly as the humans back home—causes a nervousness to flicker over him. _Calm down_ , he has to tell himself, sockets closing as he takes a deep breath. Holds it as he counts to ten. Has to consciously unclench his fingers. You were joking, just… joking. You didn’t mean anything by it. You’re (probably) not a bad human.

Oblivious to the monster’s plight, you’re busy digging through the dresser drawer, sifting through various garments, offhandedly muttering things like “I know there’s a pair in here,”, “where the heck _is it_?” and “why do I even _have_ so many of these…” before you eventually let loose a triumphant “A-HA!”.

As soon as you have the garment clutched in your hands you’re twisting back and tossing it at the preoccupied skeleton with an excited “catch!”.

Too caught up in his own mind, eye sockets still closed, Sans doesn’t register your exclamation nor does he see the fabric flying at him until it’s too late. It’s no surprise, then, that the garment lands right on his face.

“nngh?!” he blurts as he scrambles to remove the article of clothing draped over his skull. “the heck?” he questions, holding the pair of dark, cotton sweat pants at arm’s length. As his not-brows furrow you find yourself wondering how the heck that even works—how his bones move and act as if they’re pliable (if you went up to him and pinched his cheek, would the bone give under your fingers? ...would he turn blue again? **Stop that.** ). You file the thought of pinching magical skeleton monsters away as something to experiment with should an opportunity ever present itself and completely ignore that last thought.

“Oh man, Sans,” you titter as a grin stretches across your face, cheeks lifting and the corners of your eyes crinkling, “you’re really off your game today, huh? Couldn’t even dodge a measly pair of pants.” Belatedly, you realize the lights in his eyes had been out as they abruptly flicker back into sharp focus, his sockets squinting at the garment in his outstretched hands. The smile on your lips drops. Had you actually _scared_ him with a pair of _flying pants_? You press your lips together, pulling them in between your teeth and biting down, head sinking a fraction of an inch, shoulders pulling together. Maybe it was something you had said? You should apologize, shouldn’t you?

You’re unable to utter a word, however, before Sans draws your attention, apparently having shaken off… whatever that was. His arms droop as he gives you a questioning look, one of his bone brows quirked. “what’m i s’posed to do with this?” he queries and just like that, the unease is pushed off to the side, ignored. You’ll have to try and ask him about it later though. If you did something to make him uncomfortable you want to be sure you don’t repeat the mistake.

“Change into it?” you reply, quirking a brow of your own, arms crossing over your torso. “I get it if shorts are more your ‘thing’ or whatever, but short of passing your bony legs off as the coolest prosthesis around I wouldn’t know how to even go about explaining them.” You purse your lips as you look at the skeleton and the pair of pants he’s still holding aloft. “It should fit. ...I think. There’s a drawstring if you need to tighten it.” You puff a cheek and look off to the side as you mutter, “It’s not like I was asking you to take your shorts off to get a rise out of you or something stupid like that.”

He snorts. Does his best to suppress a couple more laughs. You twitch.

“What?” you inquire, arms tightening and eyes squinting. He’s holding the pants against his front, stretching the elastic band, testing its size against his pelvic bone.

“nothin’.” Another barely contained chuckle. Your brows furrow. “just... ya got a funny definition of ‘askin‘’ ‘s all.”

“Oh shut _up_.” you hiss with a roll of your eyes, biting at your lip to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. You turn to riffle through the drawer some more, calling out over your shoulder, “So are you gonna change into those or what?” You have a couple other pairs he can try on if those are either too big or too small, drawstring or not.

Sans laughs, a soft “heh”. You hear the sound of fabric ruffling as he slings the pair of pants over a shoulder. “whatever ya say, boss.” and then more fabric rustling and you _freeze_ , eyes going wide. He’s not… he wouldn’t—not while _you’re in the same room_ , right?!

“...Sans…” You turn your head to the side a few scant inches, not daring to turn around fully and visually corroborate your suspicions. There’s an uncomfortable heat building on your face—you can feel it in your ears, on your cheeks.

“huh?” he replies.

 _Fwump_.

The sound of fabric hitting the floor. The ruffling of more fabric. Something being shaken out.

And suddenly you’re bolting for the door, doorknob twisting in your hand, violently yanking the door open and _slamming_ it shut behind you. Lean against the solid mass as blood rushes to your face and try to calm your racing heart.

 _Oh my god. Oh. My._ ** _God_** _._ _Did he-?! He_ ** _didn’t_** _, right? There’s_ ** _no way_** _he’s that oblivious_ —was… was he _messing_ with you? Was this some kind of weird payback?? A split second later and the uproarious laughter you hear through the door is answer enough.

Oh you are _so_ going to get him back for this, that _little shit_.

As Sans’s laughter starts to subside and humiliation ebbs to indignant anger, you swing around and pound a fist against the door, only _just_ managing to keep yourself from throwing in a kick for good measure.

“You _**asshole**!”_ you yell through the door. You think you hear him wheezing in there, between laughs that have picked back up. Your forehead _thud_ s against the door, face a red, fiery mess, while Sans continues to laugh his ass off. You smack your head against to door once more and vow _revenge_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever wonder what this story would look like as an otome? Well, lucky for you [I have no self control and live in a garbage can](http://redeyedryu.tumblr.com/post/153495289002/what-started-as-a-doodle-in-response-to-an)!
> 
> That aside, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and that it didn't feel... too forced or awkward? Idk, I have some qualms with it but I kind of just want to get the ball rolling? And I've been wanting to write the awkward/embarrassing scenes I've had planned for _months_ but couldn't officially write because gdi it felt like we were in the livingroom for _ages_. ~~I mean... it doesn't help I keep poofin' and stuff too, hahhah;;~~ Anyway, let me know any thoughts/feels you might have and I'll see y'all in the next update!


	12. Suck a Lemon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Undyne **NO**!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you missed it at the end of last chapter, check out [the otome-esque scene of Sans](http://redeyedryu.tumblr.com/post/153495289002/what-started-as-a-doodle-in-response-to-an) commenting on Reader's ...funny definition of "asking". Just click that little link. ( •̀ᴗ-)

You're cupping your face in both hands, face a burning red. God, how could you manage to let him get to you like that? So _what_ if he had actually been getting naked (which you're pretty sure he hadn't _actually_ been doing while you had both been in there), he's a _skeleton_ for Christ's sake. It's not like there'd even be anything to see if he had in fact dropped his drawers. You're acting like a child. It’s not like you haven’t already _seen_ “naked” skeletons or anything—you’ve seen _plenty_ in your life! Heck, they were literally stacked by the _cart loads_ during Halloween and there had been one in just about every science lab _ever._ Just because _this one_ just so happened to be animated and alive didn't suddenly change anything... right?

...

Oh who were you kidding? It _totally_ made a difference. Compounded with the fact that he's one of your favorite characters in a game you're admittedly rather obsessed with at the moment...

"Hnnnnnngh!!" you whine, sliding down the door, face still buried in your hands as you tuck your head to your knees and pull forward in some semblance of a fetal position.

Why, why, why, why, _why_ did you have to be the one stuck in this mortifying situation? You are _so_ going to make him pay, even if it's _the last thing you do!_ You're not quite sure how you're going to go about exacting your revenge but you have confidence you'll figure something out. Eventually… Somehow. You’ll probably have to pick at Naomi’s brain for inspiration.

There's a soft click behind you and thank god you're not leaning on the door anymore because it slowly pulls open. You get the vague sense of someone standing in the threshold behind you.

"I hate you so much." you announce to the grinning skeleton behind you, tilting your head to the side so you can glare at him out of the corner or your eye, face peeking from behind your hands. You notice Sans is wearing the pants you had chucked at him. Guess they fit. You decide not to ask him what he's done with his shorts.

The skeleton laughs, that ever present "heh", and slouches against the door frame.

"come on, pal,” he starts, “you gotta admit that was pretty good."

You purse your lips and roll your eyes. You don't “gotta admit” anything, to be quite honest. Especially because no, no it was _not_ pretty good.

"Go suck a lemon," you huff out, pushing yourself to stand from your fetal position and swiftly making your way back towards the living room, not sparing even the smallest of glances at the little shit.

Sans just laughs and shakes his head as he leisurely follows after you.

 

* * *

 

When you cross into the living room you notice that the assembled group has apparently broken into your box set collection, the television screen displaying one of your favorite animated series.

Alphys and Undyne have moved to the loveseat—Alphys situated in Undyne’s lap, the latter’s arms wrapped around her girlfriend’s torso, holding her flush against her. Frisk and Papyrus, meanwhile, have taken over the lounge, the mussy haired child clutching the pillow you had been fiddling with earlier while Papyrus is sitting at the edge of his seat, elbows propped on his kneecaps, fisted hands held before his teeth. They're all pretty focused, paying close attention to the initial setup of the show. Looks like they're still on the first episode. You smile; it’s a pretty good ep.

Undyne spots you pretty quick, however, and wastes no time in addressing you.

"FINALLY!" she cries, tossing her arms into the air. Alyphys scrambles to keep herself from launching off the couch, gripping Undyne around the middle and wrapping herself around the woman, her tail practically curled around the muscled woman. "Took you long enough!" Undyne continues before she pauses, taking in the fading blush on your cheeks, her toothy grin dipping into a curious frown as Sans stops beside you. You can't help but mirror her expression, creased brows and all. "Uh... What's with the wardrobe change, Sans?" A beat passes before her lips part in a toothy, wolfish grin, a brow quirking. "Thought you were just 'checking up on the human,'" she smirks, arms crossing, "you sure that's _all_ you two were-"

"AAAAHHH!!!!" you scream abruptly, effectively interrupting the fish monster (and startling everyone else in the process). If you didn’t have everyone’s attention before, you sure do now. Acting on impulse (and not ready to face another fresh dose of mortification so soon), you race to grab hold of the nearest projectile and launch it. Straight at Undyne's face.

**WHUMP!**

Bull's eye. Right on the money. A++ perfect shot.

Undyne blinks. Stares at you for a second. Then blinks again. Twice. Three times.

The heck... just happened?

Her eyes slowly trail down to the ground, her gaze meeting with a small throw pillow identical to the one you had practically been smothering earlier. Slowly, she looks back to you, her eyes narrowing, her lips slightly parted in a what-the-fuck-was-that sort of expression.

Alphys, who has shifted off of Undyne’s lap and is now seated beside her, is cupping her snout with her claws, doing her best to bite back a laugh while Frisk is struggling to contain their giggles. Papyrus is fidgeting nervously and you can't quite see Sans's reaction, given you had rocketed forward to nab the pillow off the couch in your panic. You're thinking that at this rate your face is going to be stuck in a perpetual fluster.

You cough awkwardly and straighten yourself. Play it off. Just… play it off. Act cool. You got this.

"Yes, well." Cough, brush off imaginary dirt from the edges of your jacket and pants. Shift left then right. Clear your throat before speaking up and announcing that "Sans and I are going on a grocery run. I want to test the whole convention charade but his bone legs kind of make things difficult so I had him change so we're gonna head out while you all hold down the fort—Frisk's in charge. Don't answer the door if anyone knocks, stay inside, and please don't burn down my house while we're gone kaythanksbye!!" And just like that, without allowing anyone time to process your word vomit, you reach behind you, nab Sans’s jacketed arm and yank him behind you, snatching your wallet and keys off the nearby end table as you pass, promptly wretch the entryway door open, bolt through it, and then slam the door behind you.

...you so don’t got this.

With the door shut and apparent death by spear avoided, you take a moment to take a deep breath—hold it for one, two, three seconds—and exhale.

“Hooooo boy,” you sigh out, hanging your head and hunching forward a bit. You _really_ need to stop and think about your actions before acting on them or, at this rate, you won’t live to welcome the new year. Which is only like… two weeks from now. Jesus.

Sans laughs behind you. “real smooth there, kid.”

You straighten with another exhale, glancing at the skeleton at your side. You realize you’re still clutching his arm and scramble to toss it from your grip. “Oh hush your face,” you say to him, moving to the small closet across from the front door. Pulling it open, you start fishing around for your jacket, burying yourself in the hanging collection of fabric.

“relax, buddy, no need to give me the cold shoulder.” he laughs out as he leans against the entryway door.

You grunt in response before pulling yourself from the closet, your winter jacket tossed over an arm and a pair of winter boots grasped in each hand. “Shut up and put these on, you bony dork.” you say, shoving a pair of winter boots at the skeleton, saving your favorite pair for yourself. The boots you push onto Sans aren’t too bad themselves, though. The portion of the boots that run from about the ankle up is a charcoal grey, the rubber lining white with the main foot portion a pitch black. They lace in the front and are lined with a light faux-fur, the collar of the boots sporting particularly poofy tufts of the imitation fur. They’re good, sturdy boots and are perfect for traversing the icy conditions outside. Sans’s feet don’t look that much bigger than yours so they should fit.

At Sans’s quizzical expression you tell him, “You’re not walking around town wearing house slippers in the middle of winter, Sans.” You’ve slipped your own boots on and are working on threading your arms through the sleeves of your jacket as you continue, “What’re you gonna do if you slip outta one? Or both? I’m not explaining your little bone-toes to anyone. I’ll leave that fun stuff to you.”

The skeleton shrugs, saying “you don’t tip-toe around the issue, do ya?” and proceeds to switch his slippers for the heavy boots. He slides them on easily enough, only needing to tighten the laces a bit. His thicker-than-normal-human bones fill the boots quite snuggly and you’re glad you don’t have to worry about _them_ slipping off as well.

“huh. not too bad,” he comments, tapping the toe of one boot on the ground. “pretty comfy.”

“They are, aren’t they?” You’re back to digging in the closet, shuffling through a few different coats, inspecting the pockets. “You can’t keep ‘em though. I’m only lending them to you.” Now where did you put that pair of gloves…

“i dunno. might not be able to muster the energy to take ‘em off later. they got all these laces n’ everything.”

You quirk a brow as you paw through the pockets of the jacket you had worn through the better portion of Fall, before the freezing temperatures and snow had settled in. “Uh. No, I don’t think so, mister, but I have a strict no boots inside rule.” Ah! _There_ they are! You grin as you free the bundled gloves from the jacket pocket. “Feel free to use the boots while you’re here but no wearing them inside—it’s a pain to clean up after tracked in snow slush and mud.” You turn around and hand the gloves to the skeleton. “Don’t make me have to pull them from your nasty feet. And here, put these on.” He accepts the proffered clothing, giving you a chance to dig your own gloves from the pockets of the jacket you’re wearing and tug them on. “Don’t take them off around other people.” you order as you move to pull the front door open. Snow crunches underfoot as you step outside, waiting for the monster to follow after you.

Sans looks at the bundle of black fabric in his hands for a hot second, a not-brow quirked. The lip of one glove is pulled over both, effectively holding them together—much like how Papyrus likes to bundle his socks on laundry days. Sans flicks the fabric over and can’t help the laugh that escapes him as he’s greeted with the pattern printed on the backs of the gloves. Phalanges, metacarpals, and carpals; hand bones standing stark white against the pitch black of the fabric.

He chuckles as he pulls them on and steps after you, pulling the door closed behind him. Of _course_ you would own skeleton print gloves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (๑ ͡° ⌄ ͡° )✧
> 
> Come bug me on [tumblr](http://redeyedryu.tumblr.com/)!


	13. For Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans notices something odd about your town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been thinking and I'm going to try and stick to weekly to bi-weekly updates. I can't promise I'll honor this schedule, but I will try my hardest to stick to it!

With the roads as iced over and snowy as they are it's about a fifteen minute drive from your house to your preferred grocery store. Sans doesn't seem to mind the slow pace and you're appreciative. You're pretty confident in your driving skills but other drivers? You don't know what it is about snowy, hazardous conditions that brings out the recklessness and impatience in other drivers but you're not about to take unnecessary chances. Slow and steady gets you, your passenger, and your vehicle home in one piece. Thankfully it's been an uneventful trip into town thus far in regards to traffic and you can't help but thank the stars—you don't really want to showcase your angry driver persona to Sans if you can help it.

Throughout the drive you had spared the occasional glance at the skeleton sitting in the passenger seat next to you and each time you found yourself having to fight back a goofy grin. Initially, you had worried this might be a bit too much too soon for Sans—he had been silent and tense when you had first pulled out of your driveway—but it hadn’t been long before he had eased into his seat. And then ever so casually glued himself to the window.

He didn't say much, just muttered the occasional odd comment here and there about how “everything looks so similar” despite the season being off and “if i didn't know any better i’d think we were still in ebbot.” You had scrunched your face at that particular comment, curious but unwilling to pry. Maybe you could ask him about it later?

All throughout the drive he had remained as such: intently focused on his observations. You had even caught him staring rather heatedly at a couple that had crossed the street in front of your vehicle when you had been stopped at a red light. A shiver had raced down your spine at seeing his face then; it had been a quick glance (and you were second guessing whether or not you had actually seen it correctly or if your mind was just messing with you) but from the fraction of his face you were able to see his sockets had been voids of black, the edge of his smile tight and strained. You thought there might have even been a bead of blue-tinged sweat trailing down the side of his face. You couldn't help but wonder what he had seen in those two people to apparently unsettle him so. But no. No you were misinterpreting this, looking into things that weren't there.

You shook your head ever so slightly to clear it and decided that yes, you were just grasping at straws, fussing over something that most definitely wasn't there. It was just anxiety getting to you or something. After all, the next time you had snuck a peek Sans had been back to normal, his face nor his smile belying anything to the contrary.

That odd instance aside, it's an uneventful drive to the grocery store and you're now sitting in your vehicle, parked in what you approximate to be between the lines. There's so much packed snow that you can't really see the painted lines of the parking lot but it's winter and no one parks with any semblance of sense anyway so whatever.

You silence the engine and are pocketing your keys as you take a deep, calm, steadying breath. Alright. You can do this. _You can do this._

Looking to Sans you can see he’s doing his own thing to psych himself up and that causes an odd swell of emotion to flutter in your chest. He reaches for the door handle, gloved phalanges curling around the latch, and readies to push the door open.

You bite your lip, eyes traveling all over his “costume” and mind racing a mile a minute as worst case scenarios and how to handle them thunder about, before you tell him to “Hang on a sec.” He pauses mid movement and twists his skull to look at you. That blue-tinged sweat is beading all along the crest of his skull. He’s probably as nervous as you feel—if not more so.

You reach around your neck and pull the scarf you have wrapped around it free. Leaning forward, you re-wrap the scarf around the vertebrae of Sans’s neck. There's a bit of a neck to his shirt and his hood lays thick on his shoulders but just in case…

“For luck,” you say, patting his shoulder before pulling away and sitting straight in your seat, smiling at him reassuringly. And without another word you're grabbing the latch for the door, pulling the handle and pushing the door open, winter wind blasting forward to meet you. You miss the blue that dusts across Sans’s cheeks as you slam the door shut behind you.

“for luck.” he repeats absently, snuggling ever so slightly into the scarf before he too exits the vehicle.

 

* * *

 

“Ugh. I _hate_ grocery shopping.” you whine, hunching over the cart you've been pushing. Your head smacks against the hand-grip of the cart with a light rattle and Sans chuckles beside you.

You're in the condiment aisle, waiting on the skeleton to hurry up and make his selection. You don’t think you’ve been in the store for more than ten minutes—fifteen _tops_ —and you’ve already been approached by two people impressed with Sans’s “cosplay”. Well, one person and a handful of teenagers that had been traveling in a pack. The second interaction actually made up the majority of your time in the store thus far and… well, you just hoped you would be able to make it through the rest of this grocery run without further interruption.

The first person had been a very brief interaction, a simple step up to you and Sans as you were wrestling to free a cart from its corral with a polite, “Excuse me, but I just had to stop and say your cosplay looks _amazing_.” They had looked nervous, shuffling their feet and bolting before either of you could get a word out, a squeaked “sorry, thanks!” as their parting words. It had been over before either of you could really process what had happened.

The second interaction though… good lord it drained you just _thinking_ about it—but then again, it _had_ only been a couple minutes ago. Trust teenagers to be that energetic and enthusiastic over something that makes them happy.

It had started with high pitched squeals and “OHMYGOD”s, footsteps slamming against hard flooring and a near dog-pile. Sans had only _just_ managed to dodge what you could only describe as a glomp because you had grabbed hold of his arm and yanked him against you, having spotted the cluster of bodies racing in your direction out of the corner of your eye. You had then proceeded to shuffle Sans behind you as the teens re-balanced themselves, little beads of sweat forming along the crown of his skull (and you hoped they didn’t notice that little detail in their excitement). Before the kids could make another attempt at Sans you had told them “Sorry guys, but my friend isn’t very big on physical contact.”

To their credit they had apologized, admitting that they had let their excitement get the better of them, but Sans just looked _so freaking cool_ and they’d never seen such an amazing Sans cosplay before and they were just _so excited_ to meet fellow Undertale fans! You couldn’t help but relate to them there. For some reason you didn’t think you would be getting this much attention this soon. Guess Undertale was a bit more popular in your town than you had initially thought. Not even five minutes into shopping and you had already been approached twice.

“Your skull mask looks so _real!"_  one of them had squealed—a petite young girl who stood a whole head and a half shorter than you; short, cherry red hair framed her round face in loose curls. She looked comfy in her thick, black marshmallow jacket, the hood lined with grey faux fur. She wore tight blue jeans tucked into black winter boots and you could practically _feel_ the excitement rolling from her as she fought to contain herself, bouncing at the knees to keep herself from lunging for your friend.

“Seriously!” cried another—a slightly thicker set individual of ambiguous gender with shoulder length, straight black hair and an oval face. They stood at about equal height to you and were sporting a tan, fur lined jacket; red flannel peeking from their sleeves and the bottom of their coat. The pants they wore were a pitch black and despite the snow and ice outside they were wearing lace-up sneakers. The kid circled around the two of you, an excited glint in their eyes. “How’d you make the mask? Are those LEDs? How do you make them move?”

Sans had leaned back as they leaned forward, trying to get a closer look while maintaining a semi-respectable distance. “uh…” He glanced at you, a very clear, pleading _help me_ look upon his face. You could tell he was struggling not to shift his grin or twitch his sockets, to keep his face completely static. The sweat on his skull was increasing.

The sound of someone clicking their tongue drew your attention before you could act, however. You looked to the third person of their little group—a taller girl with strawberry blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, her angular face framed by her bangs and strawberry tresses. She was wrapped in a long, grey fabric winter coat adorned with two columns of large, black buttons that trailed down from the collar; black leggings and poofy white boots that reached her knees completed her winter ensemble and you found yourself thinking _that is a super cute jacket_ before meeting her gaze.

She had a brow quirked, a slight frown downturning her lips. “The pants are all wrong though. The shoes too.” You quirked a brow of your own, expression deadpan. “Can’t believe you messed up on such a small detail.” She made a _tsk_ sound, bringing a hand up to cup her chin, the other wrapping around her midsection. “And what's with the scarf? If you're trying to go for the whole ‘Papyrus is dead so I'm wearing his scarf like an over-emotional baby’ look you could at least get the color right.” You had tensed up at that, sucking a hissing breath in through your teeth. Shit, shit, _shit_ that was not something Sans needed to hear! “It's not even canon.”

“ _Jen_ …!” one of the other teens (the shorter one in the marshmallow jacket) had cried out as she smacked her friend’s arm. “Stop being rude! Would _you_ want to walk around outside in basketball shorts and slippers?”

An odd expression had crossed “Jen’s” face before realization seemed to set in. “Oh.” she had said, “Guess you've got a point there, Fi.” She then turned her attention back to you and Sans, a hand trailing through her hair. “Sorry about that. I can get pretty nit-picky. It still looks great despite the inaccuracies.”

Your eye twitches. She honestly hadn’t looked all that apologetic and talk about backhanded compliments…

Despite the annoyance nipping in the back of your mind and the snappy comments clinging to the tip of your tongue, that had not been the time to be picking fights. You begrudgingly bit your tongue and waved off the remark.

“Uh… no problem?”

“Oh!! Oh, oh, oh!!” It was the brunette that time. They were jumping in place and waving an arm in the air. “Do you guys have a tumblr? I would totally _kill_ to see your process and if you've got other cosplays!! What cons are you prepping for?”

Thank god you had done your research and had a cover story in place.

“No, sorry, no tumblr.” you confessed, patting at Sans’s arm and hoping he wasn't putting too much thought into that dead Papyrus and scarf comment. The whole group had seemed to deflate at that, their disappointment palpable. “But yeah, we’re actually aiming for Electrycon next week. This dork just thought it’d be fun to run around town in costume. Told him he should wait but you know how boneheads are.”

The kids had smiled at that, mollified. You had even managed to weasel a little huff of a laugh from Sans as well. That was a good sign, right?

“what can i say? ‘m a numbskull.” And cue more giggling.

The red-head (Fi?) had then stepped forward, suddenly looking incredibly sheepish.

“Uhm… not to be a bother or anything, but would it be alright if we got a picture?” She had looked to Sans with the most hopeful, puppy-dog eyes and you were just glad she hadn't aimed that look at you. Chancing a glance at her friends you saw they were sporting hopeful, pleading looks of their own.

“uh…” Sans had looked to you for guidance but you had just shrugged. A picture probably wouldn't do any harm but the final decision came down to him. “guess it wouldn't hurt to give it a shot.” You couldn't keep yourself from rolling your eyes and snorting as the teens snickered.

And thus an impromptu photoshoot had been held not ten feet from the grocery store entrance. They each asked for a one-on-one pic and then a group photo—going so far as to ask you to partake, though you had vehemently turned them down—and Sans, being the nice guy he is, indulged them.

Once they were satisfied with their pictures the teens had proceeded to thank you and Sans, apologized for holding you up and reiterating how awesome Sans’s cosplay was—stressing how cool his mask was and how awesome it was that you had figured out a way to make the eye-lights move—and saying they hoped to see you at the convention, before shuffling off in a huddled group of giggles and excited exclamations.

Honestly speaking, you had been glad to see them leave. Not that you didn't appreciate their enthusiasm but the interaction had dragged on way longer than you had expected and it had touched on something you would have liked to avoid broaching with Sans (or _any_ of your impromptu house guests to be quite honest).

You had made the remark that all things considered, things weren’t going too bad. Sans’s response was a sighed out “yeah.”

The two of you had then proceeded to drift through the produce section, grabbing what you needed along with whatever you figured Papyrus would require for spaghetti. You had nabbed a few sweets from the bakery section along with a loaf of garlic bread and from there you had wandered to the where you are now: the condiment aisle.

“didn't think you'd get so rattled over such a small thing.” Sans comments, bringing you back to the present.

You turn your head from its perch on the cart and shoot the skeleton a look. He's just dumped two family sized bottles of ketchup into the cart.

“First off: lame. You can do better than that. Second: you sure you don't need a few more bottles there, mister? And third: there’re too many people at the grocery store. At least at this hour. Bet ya we wouldn’t’ve had to deal with that if we’d come at 10. Maybe 11.” You puff a cheek and pout. “This place’d be totally dead at midnight. _That_ is the perfect time to shop. They’re restocking and everything.”

Sans looks thoughtful for a moment, taps a gloved finger to his mouth to drive the act home, and finally admits “ya know what, you're right.” Two more bottles are dumped into the cart. You scrunch your face in something of a grimace. You like ketchup as much as the next person but Jesus. Talk about overkill.

You tell Sans that he's gross. He just shrugs and poses the rhetorical question “what can ya do?”

Electing not to indulge the skeleton further, you straighten up, stretching and rolling your shoulders with the motion. You start pushing the cart forward.

“I’m leaving before you decide to empty the whole shelf into the cart.”

Sans follows behind at a leisurely pace, hands stuffed in his pockets, chuckling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. A few things touched on and hinted at in this chapter. |ω・  
> Next chapter should finally introduce Naomi (in the flesh). I'm excited for that.
> 
> Reader may or may not be lying about having a tumblr, but you know who _does_ have one? That's right, me! Right [here](http://redeyedryu.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
